Gadding with Ghouls
by Laerthel
Summary: November, 1994. Remus and Lucy are sent on a dangerous mission in Transylvania, burdened with a companion neither of them can count on. A few months later, the game changes: Voldemort returns, Dumbledore revokes the Order of the Phoenix and their small team is accorded a fourth member... [COMPLETE!]
1. Strange Alliances

_I borrowed the title from Gilderoy Lockhart. I don't think he'd mind it._

 _A warning for occasional **coarse language** would be appropriate, I think – mostly due to the presence of Lucy Dawlish and Sirius Black._

 _Otherwise, ENJOY!_

* * *

 **GADDING WITH GHOULS  
**

" _Who is the third who walks always beside you?  
When I count, there are only you and I together  
But when I look ahead up the white road  
There is always another one walking beside you  
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded  
I do not know whether a man or a woman  
-But who is that on the other side of you?"_

 _/ T.S. Eliot /_

 **Chapter 1 – Strange Alliances**

Albus Dumbledore seemed like a kind and benevolent man, but he partook certain features that made him downright _frightening_ at times.

For one, you could never be sure when was he joking. Sometimes, you got the feeling that he'd never had a serious thought in his life; and some other times, he was the epitome of wisdom itself, and you wouldn't dare take as much as a loud breath in his presence. Yet _other_ times, you got the impression that everything Dumbledore said or did was only an act: a product of meticulous planning and ruthless calculation.

For most people, the mere reputation of the old wizard was enough to suppress such scornful inclinations of thought – but Lucy Dawlish was not most people. She was, at present, a time-shell ready to explode as soon as she felt a trap. And if to avoid said trap, she needed to turn down the most powerful wizard in Britain… well, then she would do _exactly that._

Until the moment of action came, though, all she could do was wait at the feet of the stairs and wriggle the creases of a faded tapestry between her fingers. She wondered how many other people had wriggled the same creases in the same tapestry before, and if their thoughts had been by any means similar with hers.

More than a year had passed since Dumbledore appeared on her doorstep high up in Balaur-colţ,withoutwarning or explanation, and took her on a walk around the dragon reserve. Later, when they were well out of sight and thoroughly lost in the picturesque landscape, he announced that he had a task for her.

Two hours of utter nonsense ensued – about secret vaults that had been locked for centuries, about a curse that was protecting them, and about enraged dragons roaming the deepest hindquarters of Gringotts. At first, it all sounded like an extract from a storybook, then like a tasteless joke, and then… _then_ , like some twisted, far-fetched piece of reality that was almost too crude for Lucy to believe. Almost.

Dumbledore, to his credit, had been honest with her; probably more honest than he usually was with anyone. He had not told her everything, far from it (Lucy would have been actually quite puzzled if he had), but their deal was easy, fair, and clear. If the vaults were to be opened, and the curse broken, the goblins would get their most secure vaults and most prized possessions back; the Ministry would finally have the means to pay its debts; and she, Lucy Dawlish, would get fabulously rich. _In shorter words,_ Dumbledore had summed up his monologue with a dazzling smile, _everyone would win._

That statement made Lucy wonder what _Dumbledore_ would gain by such an operation, but she decided to put that aside for the time being.

Explained by her old Headmaster, the whole plan sounded easy and trivial… but reality, of course, was profoundly different. Since the sealing of her accord with Dumbledore, Lucy had already managed to enrage three goblin officials, break a vase worth of a thousand Galleons in Griphook's office, and rekindle her all-too-stormy relationship with curse-breaker Bill Weasley for the sixth time, just as she'd sworn she would _never_ do. However, time went on, and she got decidedly better at handling her new life (and perhaps at handling Bill Weasley as well).

 _Speak of the devil,_ Lucy thought as she heard the all-too-familiar pattering of dragonhide boots over age-old stone, as their owner raced along the corridor below her.

Of course Bill would come. _Of course_ he wouldn't miss a single word of her meeting with Dumbledore… although for once, Lucy wished he would. She had no idea what to expect, but that did not lessen the gripping certainty that whatever was to come, Bill was not about to like it.

Still, when the tall, lanky wizard put an arm around her and buried his face in her hair (his own hair was far too long and ruffled, and it smelled like Muggle cigarettes), she felt an overwhelming surge of warmth. Bill Weasley was like a rock, _her rock;_ secure, unmoving, and loyal to death. And if she had to let him kiss her, caress her, throw her on his bed to keep him around, she would do all that… She _did_ love Bill in her own way, and it was beyond comforting to feel the tip of his fang-shaped earrings press into her neck.

"Hey," Lucy murmured, when their embrace stretched too long to her liking. "How are your fake golden cauldrons?"

"They're missing you," Bill mumbled. "You know… Griphook is still livid about that vase…"

"Goblins are always so blunt – why wouldn't he just admit that it was dead-ass ugly anyway?!"

"Now-now. How much more time in Gringotts will it take to teach you that being dead-ass ugly doesn't equal being worthless?" Bill rolled his eyes, quite dramatically so, and they both laughed.

A door opened somewhere far above, and they both tensed at the slow, iron-bound pace of approaching steps. Lucy knew only one person in the world who walked in such a way; and facing her now felt surreal, as if someone had played with a Time-Turner and thrown her some six years back.

" _Professor McGonagall!"_ She all but shouted, alarmed, curious and ridiculously overjoyed at the same time. "We were just hoping to…"

"…wish me a good evening, I presume," said their former Head of House with the shadow of a smile on her austere face. "As do I. Miss Dawlish, Mr Weasley, please follow me. The Headmaster is waiting for you."

Lucy risked a questioning look at Bill as they were climbing the stairs, but the only thing she could see on his face was the reflection of her own bewilderment. Why would Dumbledore agree to meet them so openly, in his own office, and on top of it all, _announced…?_

As she entered the Headmaster's office in McGonagall's heels, Lucy felt once more like going back in time. The strange, smoking machines still hummed in the background with quiet intensity, the portraits of deceased Headmasters still graced the long left-side wall, and Fawkes the phoenix was still sitting idly on his golden perch. At the sight of the newcomers, however, he made a delighted crackling sound with his beak, and let out a single trill.

With an effort, Lucy tore her eyes away from the phoenix and bid good-evening to Dumbledore. Only then did she notice that the old Headmaster was not the only person present in the room. Three chairs were gathered around the central desk; one was occupied by Professor Severus Snape, one by _Charlie Weasley_ of all people, and one by a short wizard with straggly ginger hair. Dumbledore himself was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, heatedly explaining something for none other than Remus Lupin, who was half-sitting half-leaning on the edge of the desk.

When he heard Bill's and Lucy's greetings, Dumbledore spread his arms as if he'd been graced with the greatest joy of his life.

"Ah," he said lightly, "excellent. Please join us. A few introductions are necessary, I trust…" He turned to the ginger-haired wizard. "Mundungus, let me introduce Miss Lucy Dawlish and Mr William Weasley, both employees of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Miss Dawlish, Mr Weasley, the gentleman here is Mundungus Fletcher."

"Nice t'meet ya," Mundungus mumbled and offered them both a languid handshake, which immediately crushed Lucy's illusions about him being a gentleman.

"Also," said Dumbledore elegantly, "Mr Weasley, I trust you've never met my friend Remus Lupin before."

Bill and Remus shook hands at the edge of Lucy's vision, and she found herself giving a polite nod to the wizard without ever bothering to look at him. She felt that Remus was trying to catch her eye, but she wouldn't allow it. _Not for the world,_ she thought as she exchanged greetings with the others.

She glanced at Charlie instead, and mouthed _what the heck are you doing here,_ to which Charlie gave an almost invisible shrug, and countered with _where in Merlin's name did you go?!_

It would have been Lucy's turn to shrug if she did not suddenly feel Dumbledore's eyes on her.

"Thank you all for coming," said the old wizard. "I took the courage to initiate this small meeting, since there is need to clear up a few things between us – _all of us._ But before we get to that, please let me offer my most excellent lemongrass tea to our new guests! It would be a shame to keep them out of it, really."

Minutes later, Lucy was sitting in a freshly conjured armchair in front of the fireplace, with Bill on her right and Fawkes in her lap. The phoenix had landed on her knees as soon as she sat down and pecked at her fingers for scratching (which she willingly provided). It took her best effort not to sway or fidget as she sat; Charlie was still staring dumbfoundedly at her, Remus was adamantly trying to catch her glance, Bill's knee was pressing into hers, Mundungus was openly checking her out and McGonagall was probably mentally criticising her pose as she sat. All things considered, Lucy was quite thankful to receive the perpetual death stare of Severus Snape: at least _that_ was something she remembered from her Hogwarts years.

"As I was saying," continued Dumbledore cheerfully, "we need to clarify a few details. Last year, you have all agreed to help me execute a plan of great importance, which requires close association with certain Ministry forces."

Here, Dumbledore nodded at Lucy. Charlie mouthed _what the bloody hell_ behind the Headmaster's back, and Lucy herself tried her best to look neutral.

"Said plan," Dumbledore went on, "consists of many steps, and I am happy to announce that quite a few of those have already been taken. As you may know, the Ministry of Magic has been trying to gain access to a certain group of ancient Gringotts vaults, named _The Sequestrum,_ ever since the war against Grindelwald. These have been sealed for centuries, and even the Goblins themselves seem to have lost their ability to open them. The vaults are cursed, and an entire colony of dragons – who had previously been charged with their safekeeping – went wild, making access to The Sequestrum seem _impossible_." Dumbledore made a vague gesture with his hand. "Miss Dawlish and Mr Weasley have agreed to make an attempt at reopening the vaults, employed personally by Cornelius Fudge upon my humble suggestion – with certain obligations of confidentiality, of course."

Lucy had to suppress a grin; summarized like that, her life sounded like some Muggle comic strip from the seventies… and Charlie's face was _priceless._ She couldn't fault him, though; the only thing he'd ever seen her do outside school was chasing dragons.

"Meanwhile," continued Dumbledore cheerfully, "both Minerva and I resumed our separate researches concerning the Sequestrum, and we have come to several conclusions. Since the vaults were built well before the establishment of the Wizarding Bank out of personal goblin property, they open with a key _operating with_ goblin magic, and not goblin magic _itself_ as is the case today with the vaults of some ancient families. Several medieval accounts discuss the topic, and I shall now spare you the story of how we placed them together to patch out the truth… The key to The Sequestrum, however, still exists, and – as I have found out with the help of our friend Mundungus – it is currently locked inside the vitrines of a great (if somewhat eccentric) collector in the heart of Transylvania. He bought in in Borgin & Burkes, quite a few decades ago; and he has absolutely no idea about its worth, or function. Neither had Borgin, for that matter."

Bill gave a start. "But that is _excellent news_ , Headmaster! If we could only retrieve the key…"

"Ah, yes, the key," Dumbledore sighed dreamily. "But alas! the key is not everything we need. We must be prepared to anything that might happen once we have opened The Sequestrum, _if_ we ever get the key. Because, you see, certain _complications_ may present themselves."

"For example," said Lucy in a head-voice she had not known she could produce, "the current owner of the key may not want to part with it."

Dumbledore nodded. "To be very clear, Miss Dawlish, the key to the Sequestrum is currently owned by a vampire, named Sanguini. Well-travelled as you are, you may have heard of him."

"Sanguini?" Said Charlie in a very strange voice. "Isn't he the guy who murdered an entire Romanian village on a whim?"

"That's the one," Lucy made her best attempt at a nonchalant grin. "Sounds great! When do we start?"

"Tomorrow," said Dumbledore. "Remus has offered his experience and Mundungus his connections; and all things considered, I have come to the conclusion that _you,_ Miss Dawlish, are the best choice for them as a third companion on their mission in Transylvania."

Lucy was quite certain she'd misheard. _"Me?"_

"None else!" Dumbledore nodded cheerfully.

"So… Headmaster, just to be entirely clear… you'd have me quit my job at Gringotts, all so suddenly, and run off to Transylvania to rob a notorious mass murderer…?"

" _No!"_ Bill closed his eyes for moment, as if to calm down. "Headmaster, with all due respect, that is a terrible idea! Lucy is needed _here_ , in Gringotts…"

"For the time being, she is needed with Remus and Mundungus," countered Dumbledore decisively. "She shall return to England once the task is done. Cornelius gave his blessing, and so did Griphook."

 _And neither had bothered to tell me about it,_ Lucy thought with a flare of helpless anger, which turned into suspicion as she eyed the younger Weasley brother.

" _Charlie,"_ she snapped. "What is your role in all this nonsense?"

"I'll see you three safely back in the reserve," said Charlie, a bit too quickly to her liking. "We'll stay in contact while you're… doing your thing."

 _Doing our thing,_ Lucy thought exasperatedly. _Great_.

 _Well, at least there would be dragons._

"I still think it's a terrible idea." Bill's expression was suddenly living up to his reputation of a runaway curse-breaker still chased by Chilean authorities.

"No worries, redhead," said Lucy (although she profoundly agreed). "I'll be alright."

"Alright?! On your first day in Romania, you'd gotten in a bar fight with _three werewolves,_ for Merlin's sake!"

"It won't happen again." Lucy paid extreme attention not to meet the eyes of McGonagall or Snape. "Besides, my bar fight skills have quite improved since you last witnessed them."

" _I'm not convinced!"_

"Then don't be," said Lucy, running out of patience. "If you're determined to make your own life harder – all yours." She turned to Dumbledore. "What do I need to do?"

"You, Remus and Mundungus will find a way to approach Sanguini and retrieve the key," said Dumbledore. "Keep your eyes open. You may have heard about the Quidditch World Cup riot… something is happening, something _changed,_ and I have quite obscure feelings about it. We will have another meeting tomorrow morning, at eight o' clock – afterwards, Severus and Minerva shall provide you certain things that might come handy on your journey."

"Thank you, Headmaster," said Lucy as politely as she could manage, and she bid good night to everyone.

As soon as she stepped out to the corridor, Charlie caught her arm.

"I… this will probably sound ridiculous, but I need your help with an angry dragon," he confessed. _"Now."_

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Here? In Hogwarts?"

"Out in the woods. And the dragon in question is… well, it's Mizzet."

" _Mizzet?!"_ Lucy snapped. _"_ But what the _fuck_ is he doing here?! Who _dared_ to bring him out of the reserve without my permission?!"

She was suddenly so angry that she couldn't bring herself to care about her tone or language. First, she's being harassed by a goblin about a broken vase, then she finds out that she'll have to go on a secret mission _with Remus Lupin,_ and now _this…_

Life was barrelling out of her control, and she was helpless as a new-born baby.

Charlie visibly steeled himself. "I will explain everything on the way," he said. "Let's go."

Bill's lean figure followed them as they stormed down the stairs and disappeared in the shadows of the entrance hall.

* * *

Back in Dumbledore's office, Mundungus Fletcher gave a thunderous sigh, and wiped his forehead with the back of his palm.

"Blimey, Albus," he murmured. "Y'sure about this? Sounds like the kinda witch who'd murder me in my sleep."

"I'm fairly certain that if Miss Dawlish were to murder you, she would do it face to face," said Dumbledore elegantly. "Fear not, my friend! If you get to know her, you will see that she has quite a sparkling personality."

Mundungus glanced around, not quite convinced. He might have been trying to catch Remus Lupin's eye, but the other wizard had already left; and all he earned was a somewhat mocking stare from Severus Snape.

When all his guests and colleagues had left, Albus Dumbledore opened a window with a swish of his wand, and quit his pacing for a silent, stolen minute to watch Hagrid as he walked through the fields and into the forest. He carried a giant crossbow on his shoulders, and he was whistling a happy (if somewhat false) tune.

This was going to be a long day.

 _ **(to be continued)**_

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

There is a Harry Potter plot I've been sitting on for over a decade, then one day, I decided to write it...

...and lo, it becometh _The Operation Sequestrum_ series. To check out the "Table of Contents", please visit my profile and/or _**sequestrum** dot **gportal** dot **hu**_ (I've been trying to devise a way to show a link since forever... sorry about the clumsiness). ** _  
_**

Lucy Dawlish is an OC who has gone through quite a number of changes over the years. As of now, she is the daughter of the Auror John Dawlish. She started Hogwarts in the same year as Bill Weasley and Myron Wagtail.


	2. Parting Ways

**Chapter 2 – Parting Ways**

"So, just to make sure I've heard you well," drawled Lucy, massaging her temples. "The first task of the Triwizard Tournament required the presence of dragons, and you had the audacity to involve Mizzet without my permission. Without my _knowledge,_ even. I swear, sometimes I feel like we're still at school… Charlie, _do you have any idea what could have happened…?!_ Mizzet is not some furry little _rabbit,_ for Merlin's sake! He is a _Horntail!"_

"Well the Swedish Shortsnout is no furry little rabbit, either," Charlie objected. "I had no choice, okay? The Tournament usually involves three candidates, and not four. When Dumbledore owled me that I was to find another dragon, I just didn't know what to do – I couldn't pick any beast from the reserve. It had to be one we could _transport_ … one that won't kill the Triwizard Champions as soon as it sets eye on them… and I couldn't bring another Common Welsh Green – all four had to be different breeds…"

"Yeah," said Lucy. "So you have told me before, and the amount of fucks I give is still _zero._ You should have at least sent me _an owl!"_

"I know!" Charlie sighed. "But… you working with Mizzet… it just makes things seem so _simple_. I thought I could keep him in check because I'm as good as you. Because I work hard… But you… you're a _natural."_

"Stop acting like I'm Newt Scamander reborn, or something!" Lucy snapped, her voice suddenly much friendlier than she would have liked. "It won't save your neck!"

Their conversation carried them through the windbreak that separated the castle from the clearing where the four dragons were kept. Up from the hillside where Lucy halted, they looked like cowering dogs – four looming figures behind the bars of their enclosures. Brown-cloaked dragon experts were running back and forth around them, quelling their spirits, and getting them ready for the journey home.

Three of the makeshift quads were relatively safe and quiet, with grunting dragons and the occasional small flames flaring out of their nostrils – the Common Welsh Green even appeared to be sleeping. The first enclosure from the right, however, was anything but quiet; the giant Horntail was roaring and shaking his chains, determined to burn the thrice-secured folding screen around his cage to ashes.

"Merlin's ass, he's _livid!"_ Lucy sighed. She was, actually, almost amused. "What happened?"

"We gave him eggs to protect, and his Champion thwarted him," Charlie explained. "The original idea was to pick female dragons in their nesting period, but _relatively_ tame. I thought, however, that Mizzet would be a safer option than a female, especially in the case of Horntails… The First Task was to steal a golden egg from the dragons' nest without damaging the others, which we have replaced by enchanted stones. Anyway, Mizzet took a liking to his golden egg, and he hated when Harry Potter snatched it away from him. He's been acting like this ever since."

Lucy furrowed her brows. "How the hell did Potter do it?"

"On his _Firebolt,"_ Charlie's voice was distant. "You should have seen the Wronski Feint he did…"

Lucy did not answer. Meeting Harry Potter had always been on her bucket list, especially because she wanted to ask him how a Basilisk looked like out of the textbook… but Harry Potter was a teenager, already famous and reputed, and he flew a _Firebolt_ – what on Earth would they have to tell each other, really…?

"My youngest brother Ron is friends with him," Charlie continued slowly. "We've seen the World Cup Finale together…"

"Yep, I was there, too," said Lucy absentmindedly. "It was awesome until those morons started to fly Muggles around above my tent. They were _screaming…_ I'd like to tell you that I stood up for them, but I just… actually, I just ran away with the rest of the sheep. I was reminded of my mum, and all."

Charlie's hand was heavy on her shoulder, and she did her best not to flinch. She hated being comforted, knowing that she could offer nothing in return.

"Come on," she said instead, "let's hush that big boy."

Some of the brown-cloaked experts recognised Lucy as she walked down to the barricade, asking questions she could not – or would not – answer. There were more than a few voices saying that Mizzet was to be Stunned and transported in quarantine.

If they had all picked tactical spots and shouted the spell simultaneously, they could have probably Stunned the dragon, for sure… that would have been the easy way. Not _hers._ Stunning Mizzet would have meant that she, Lucy lost the only power she had over him: _control._

* * *

Two years in Romania had taught Charlie and his team to let her deal with Mizzet alone. After no more than a minute's commotion, Lucy found herself alone in front of the Horntail's enclosure, with no more than the humming flames as a company. If she squinted a bit, they looked like exotic flowers, or perhaps sizeable tongues as they lapped around the shaded barricades. Whoever had charmed those against ignition had remarkable skills.

However, when Lucy flicked her wand and mumbled _"Reducto!",_ the folding screen, along with the enclosure itself, disintegrated amenably into a pile of dust. For three fleeting seconds, there was nothing between her and the blossoming flames; then strangely, abruptly, the fire stopped. Lucy found herself staring into two enormous yellow eyes that flashed and glimmered like torches of menace through the billowing smoke.

She gave a wry smile. "Hello, Mizzet."

The eyes narrowed, and the dragon gave a low, thundering growl. Smoke emerged from his nostrils, and he lowered his head, so Lucy could stare right into his angular face. His teeth were sharp ivory knives, each longer than her arm and some wider than her waist. The teeth parted for a few seconds, revealing the red chasm that was the dragon's throat as he screeched at her, letting out a bright column of fire.

Lucy ducked, fell flat on her stomach, rolled away from it.

"Mizzet, NO!"

All that earned her was another screech. The dragon's neck emerged from the smoke – a solitary wave – and charged at her, only to block the way behind her with more flames, then slide harmlessly back to the confines of his cowering body. Lucy cast a quick _Aguamenti_ behind her back, and crossed her arms, almost spitting flames herself.

"I _dare you_ to do something like that once more – _once more_ and I'm bringing in the whip."

The Horntail crouched further down, his body tense as a bowstring. Firelight glimmered on his armour of scales – orange-pink checkers on a veil of onyx –, and he roared when Lucy seemed unaffected by the might of his rage. The enormous neck darted forward, swifter then a Centaur's lance, and the fuming nostrils stopped inches away from her sweating face.

"I said _no,_ you scampy bastard," Lucy growled. "Don't waste that foul breath o' yours. _Down."_

She swallowed an unexpected lump in her throat. It had been too long… too long without anyone really looking after Mizzet…

"I said – DOWN!"

Maybe it was something in her voice, or something in her glance, or something about her magic – but the fantastic, the impossible, the unimaginable happened. The wild yellow eyes narrowed into focus again; the wings folded back; the roaring melted into indignant grunts; altogether, the dragon ceased his perpetual wreaking of havoc and backed down, although Lucy could not tell if it was out of friendship or simple boredom.

One thing, however, was sure: obedience required a reward, just as she, Lucy had been granted one when she had walked into the dragon's den with no fear or whip. This was one of the curiosities of their bond – Lucy could not really call it friendship, or ownership; not even a _contract_ , although it was based on consent and control. Whatever they had, it worked, though: Mizzet could have swallowed her whole, burned her to ashes or impaled her on one of his many scales if he ever wanted – and she, Lucy could have jinxed him into pieces (although with a considerably greater effort). Still, neither ever did, and neither truly thought that the other would; and on a certain level, both restrained from _forcing_ the other to do so.

 _A reward it is, then,_ Lucy thought as she blinked into the fearsome yellow eyes.

"Stay a good man-slaughtering monster overnight, alright?" She grinned. "You're _not_ gonna be Stunned, nor chained, nor transported, nor any of that shit. We're flying back to Harghita together, alright? _Flying._ Tomorrow."

She liked talking to Mizzet; though she could not expect him to discern words and their meanings, he seemed to have a striking ability to distinguish her different moods, and especially, intonations. Now, as she sat down in what had previously been Mizzet's enclosure and began to trace circles in the dust, the enormous head levelled down to hers and the dragon studied her carefully with his unblinking eyes.

"In fact," Lucy mused, "I guess I'll stay with you for a while. Gotta sort out a few things in my head."

"I think I might assist you in that," said Remus Lupin's voice from the shadows.

Lucy could not help but feel impressed as he emerged from the woods and approached her, ignoring the red flare in the Horntail's eyes as well as the deep, thundering roar that shook the very earth beneath them. The Swedish Shortsnout joined in with a hooting yowl, and the Common Welsh Green cracked its jaw behind the enchanted bars of her enclosure.

"Mizzet, NO!" Lucy jumped to her feet, pointed at the newcomer. _"Not food,_ alright?"

 _Not food_ was one of the few terms Mizzet had been made familiar with in his early youth; and, since he had been remarkably well fed over the course of the Tournament, he had no qualm about accepting its significance this time. His eyes, however, were still full of menace and small flames emerged from his nostrils.

Lucy (who had mostly decided to stay out for the night to be able to avoid this particular conversation) risked a glance at the wizard. Remus looked just as tired and worn-out as ever, and there were black circles beneath his eyes. Only now, she knew what they meant.

"Sorry," she managed. "I shouldn't have ignored you earlier. It's just… you were the last person I'd expected to see here. It took me a while to figure out how exactly I was feeling about that, but… well, it's not _bad._ That Mundungus bloke, though, he kind of weirds me out. Do you know him?"

"Dumbledore trusts him," said Remus calmly. He sat down at the other side of the destroyed barrier, facing her, and glanced up to steal a look at Mizzet. "He's just as majestic as I'd imagined. You know, I've never seen a Horntail before…"

"Yeah…"

"And he really _is_ tame."

Lucy grinned. "Well, there's room for improvement. Charlie said he'd tried to swallow him whole."

"Maybe he was just missing you."

"It's not like that… dragons don't _miss_ you… they're like goblins, in a way. They keep their engagements – no more, no less."

"One day, you could tell me more about that," said Remus measuredly.

"Yeah – I'll have time for that now, won't I?"

"Absolutely. But before _that,_ and before everything else you might tell me, I owe you an explanation. For – for last time."

Lucy rolled her eyes. "I don't want to hear it."

"That's understandable, but…" Remus closed his eyes. "I had a reason to leave, like, _really_ had, and…"

"I know – look, I'm not an idiot, okay? I've figured it out. But you could have just… I don't know, flat out told me or something. It's not like I don't know how werewolves work."

Remus blinked a few times and looked away, and Lucy busied herself with her drawings in the dust.

"This is not something I usually _tell_ people," the wizard finally managed, quite defensively. "It's not easy, and… well, I was convinced that you would leave immediately after I told you, and I'd never see you again."

"I must have made a very nice impression, then!" Lucy snapped.

"No, it's not… listen, it's not the same thing to _tolerate_ a werewolf, and to _date_ one!" Remus's eyes and voice were filled with sudden flame and heat, so much that Mizzet gave a loud _hiss_ behind Lucy's back. "I'm not used to people – _accepting me,_ or anything! I wanted to do the least harm possible. I should have never agreed to meet you in the first place, but –" Remus swallowed the rest of the sentence and shook his head miserably. "Well, I just wanted to apologise. Sincerely. And… I was wondering if we could forget this, do our best to work together, and trust each other on this mission."

 _Trust,_ Lucy thought, not entirely without scorn. _Right._

"Okay," she said, "Apology accepted. A piece of advice if you don't mind… next time you wanna do _the least harm possible_ to a girl you like, try, like, _avoiding her,_ or something…? Or not. But _decide._ Don't make the poor chick spend the best afternoon ever and don't show off how blasted awesome you are if you're just gonna _leave_ at the end. Be _consistent._ "

Lucy could not help but feel a pang of satisfaction as she stared at Remus's hurt, dumbfounded face.

"And now," she said, "kindly remove yourself from my presence before my dragon transforms you into a heap of fucking _ash."_

Remus – to his credit – stood with reserved elegance, bid her good-night, and held his head high as he vanished among the shadows of the night. Lucy stared at the spot where she'd seen him last for a long time, wondering whether the entire world had gone crazy, or whether she'd just missed a chance.

* * *

Bill Weasley found her at dawn, as she was sitting by the lakeside and racing a fistful of pebbles against the lapping waves. He slid an arm around her waist and buried his face in her hair; she tried to relax against his well-known warmth and continued to observe Hagrid's Thestrals as they lined up some twenty yards from them to drink.

The last time they had sat here like this, she was the only one to see them; now, they both did.

The thought should have made her feel something, something other than an immaterial wall building up inside her – that, and _tension:_ the well-known tension of being lured, captured, _chained._ Chained into thinking that Bill understood her, or that anyone she knew ever could.

The Sun's ghost appeared on the horizon behind veils of mist and rolled a ribbon of pale orange over the waters. The Thestrals, however, seemed unaffected by the light, gaping black holes against the rosy dawn. With the faint morning hue came the understanding that they were at it again.

Again, Bill was wrong in trusting her; and she, Lucy was cruel for playing along, and playing so well.

She sighed, as if from exhaustion. After all, she truly _was_ exhausted.

"I still think this whole mission is a terrible idea," Bill said.

"I've done worse."

"I know. I also know that you've made up your mind, and you _will_ go. You _want_ to go."

"I have to," said Lucy softly. "I have to go."

"Yeah…" Bill shook his head. "Listen, I – I want you to keep this." He pulled out a small sac from one of his many pockets. "There are diamonds inside. Back from… from Egypt."

Lucy opened her mouth to protest, but Bill raised a firm hand. "No – no, listen! You might need to bribe people on your way. All kinds of people… and _this_ will even work with Goblins. I know that Dumbledore will think about that, too, but it won't hurt if you have something else… something your companions _don't know_ about. Got it?"

Lucy nodded her thanks; she couldn't utter a single word. Bill was looking at him seriously, _way too seriously,_ in fact. His face was very close; she could have counted the freckles on his cheeks, if she wanted. And he was looking at her lips…

"Don't," she whispered.

"Hey…"

" _Save it!"_ Her head snatched up, much like Mizzet's a few hours ago. "Not _now_ – now when I'm gone for a year. If I knew…"

"…then you would have gotten my hopes up all the same".

"I don't…"

"Just come back in one piece," Bill said solemnly. "And don't fall in love with some wayward vampire-hunter, alright?"

"I don't do falling in love," said Lucy sweetly. "It just makes things a mess."

"We'll see about that," said Bill, with a ragged smile that would have made her heart race as much as a year ago.

Now, it seemed that her heart had stopped.

 _ **(to be continued)**_


	3. The One Who Knocks

_This chapter contains small references to chapters III and IV of 'The Tale of the Grim'._

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – The One Who Knocks**

When Lucy first glimpsed the snowy peaks of the Harghita looming on the horizon like the teeth of a giant wolf, she could barely contain her excitement. She could swear that a gripping adventure lay ahead.

She was wrong.

Not only did the first month of their mission slip away in a quiet and underhanded manner (like a criminal in hiding), but it also involved the last thing Lucy had been expecting: a steady routine. _Waking up, breakfast, going out, nothing happens, coming back, dinner, uneasy sleep, repeat_. After two weeks, it became maddening, and Lucy could see no progress whatsoever.

At least, if there _was_ any progress, she took no part of it.

Mundungus Fletcher turned out to be a no-gooder, just as she had suspected, but she had to grant him one thing: he _could_ come handy at times. Dung (as everyone called him) procured precious information through some shady connections of his. Lucy never actually met any of these people; all she could glimpse was the occasional coming and going of shadows in the corridor of the hunting lodge they slept in. "Dung" also had tendency to leave for days, then to reappear with something new. Other than that, he was a notorious drinker, and he taught her how to cheat at poker, which was definitely a plus.

Remus Lupin, for his part, was up to something else entirely, something that – in Lucy's opinion – was not one hundred percent related to their mission. She saw candles flickering in his room at ungodly hours; he was writing long notes and he seemed to have borrowed half of Dumbledore's personal library. Lucy's queries finally revealed that he was studying the concept of the Philosopher's Stone, so he would be able to play the over-enthusiastic alchemist if they were ever to carry out their plan. If they were to get a chance to parley with the vampire, or at least sneak into his castle (which was apparently not so easy as in Muggle horror movies), Remus had explained, they would need fake names, and a backstory. It seemed that he was no stranger to fake names, which left Lucy concerned and thrilled at the same time… and perhaps a little bit smitten.

She decided to pose as an expert in ancient Avaric runes, something she'd had the occasion to study during one of her journeys with Bill. Every now and then she joined Remus in his research, and before she knew, their daily routines started to blend into each other. Remus was easy to be around – he did not ask prying questions about her past, his wit was as sparkling as ever, and he made excellent hot chocolate. Lucy could feel that she was beginning to form an _unwelcome attachment_ to the idea of spending time with him, but she chose to ignore it.

Mid-December brought an atrocious full moon of four days – _four entire days_ when Dung was out on one of his many self-assigned quests and Remus – no, the _wolf_ – was huddled up inside his room behind thrice-locked doors. He did not even react when Lucy declared through the keyhole that she was bored as hell and inquired if he would eat her anytime soon.

Finally, Lucy sneaked out of the hunting lodge and went to see Mizzet in the reserve – who was still holding a grudge over the confiscation of his beloved golden egg – then she went out for a beer with Charlie, who, on his turn, _did_ ask prying questions.

Days and weeks lumbered by like snails in the dirt.

* * *

When Lucy stumbled down the stairs on the morning of Boxing Day, she was mildly surprised to see presents piled up on her chair. She was even more surprised to hear the voices of Remus and Mundungus arguing in the kitchen.

"…you could've bloody well told me," Dung snapped. "You don' realise…"

"Yes, I _do_ realise," Remus's tone was razor-sharp. "But this is not the time."

"That's not _–"_

"If you don't trust me, trust _Dumbledore,_ at least!" Remus seemed to be struggling to keep his voice down. "I…I didn't think you would recognise the handwriting after all these years. I should have probably burnt it immediately, but… let's just go back to our breakfasts, okay?"

Lucy slipped away from the kitchen door and made a show of walking down the stairs again. She opened the shutters – and was immediately rewarded with a snowy landscape.

"Now _this_ is how winter should be," she declared. "Merry Christmas, guys!"

"Merry Christmas!" Remus and Mundungus echoed as they joined her and blinked at their own heaps of presents. Remus subtly took the longer way around the table to occupy his chair, and he threw something into the fireplace. If he'd lingered there just _one_ second longer, it would have been obvious that he got rid of something – probably that is why he failed to notice that a wandering breeze knocked the scrap of paper out of the flames. Due to some wonderful coincidence, said breeze also happened to levitate the paper into Lucy's palm under the table.

"Blimey!" Dung said when he unwrapped the bottle of honey-flavoured Firewhiskey she bought him. "Thanks!"

"It should survive at least a week, okay?"

Dung nodded his agreement, but as soon as he unwrapped his several cards and letters as well as the dragonhide gloves he'd gotten from Remus, he declared that he was going for a smoke, and suspiciously enough, he took the whiskey jar with him.

"Thanks, Lucy," said Remus gently. "How did you know I've been planning to read Yeats?"

"I didn't – I just thought you'd like his stuff."

"Well I think I already do," said Remus, squinting at a page. Just listen to this:"

" _I made my song a coat  
Covered with embroideries  
Out of old mythologies  
From heel to throat;  
But the fools caught it,  
Wore it in the world's eyes  
As though they'd wrought it.  
Song, let them take it  
For there's more enterprise  
In walking naked."_

"But then…" Remus frowned, propping his chin up with the book above the table. " _More enterprise in walking naked,_ for sure. I'd say, however, that it demands far too much of personal investment."

Lucy, who had mostly bought the book to have Remus recite her poetry, hummed her accord without really paying attention.

"Hey," she glanced up, pointing at the macarons Remus was currently stuffing in his mouth, "where'd you get those? You can find them, like, once a year at Honeydukes, and people buy them all in ten minutes… _Hey!_ Is that bastard _pistachio flavoured…?"_

Remus gave her the macaron above the table. "Yeah. Try one!"

" _Where did you get them?!"_

"There's this yearly phenomenon we call Christmas." Remus winked at her.

"Okay, but from _whom?"_

"An old friend," said the wizard, somewhat too quickly. "Now, won't you unwrap your own presents as well? I'm at the edge of my seat."

Lucy swallowed her questions and turned her attention to the packages in front of her. There were also some nine or ten letters waiting at the edge of the table, but she would get to those later…

Mundungus's gift was an omniscope: at first glance, it was identical to the ones sold at the Quidditch World Cup, but its options were different. Instead of tricks and formations, it showed forest paths, constellations, and the names of various plants. Lucy was deeply impressed when she looked out of the window through the lens, and the omniscope informed her about six different species of pine tree.

From Remus, she got a giant box of chocolate frogs and an old, withered Muggle book, with the title _Occult Symbolism_ graved into its cover. Under the title, the line-art of the Grim was chasing two swallows embroidered in red yarn.

"Strangely enough," said Remus with a hint of amusement in his voice, "Muggles possess an older and more accurate-looking piece of lore about the interpretation of omensthan wizards do. I thought you'd like it – and if not, there's still chocolate."

Lucy hardly even heard him. She paged through the book in haste, searching for _dog;_ and she stared at the yellowed pages in awe when they repeated the things Ronan and Bane had told her.

"Bravery, recklessness, blind loyalty, nobility, distrust… _what the hell?!_ How could Muggles know about the guardians?!"

"The guardians?" Remus frowned.

Lucy looked at him as if she'd just realised he was there.

"The night you left I… I really _did_ see the Grim, you know. I followed you along to the Shrieking Shack as fast as I could, but the Grim… the Dog… it appeared from nowhere and drove me off. Freaked me out so much that I ran straight back to Hogwarts, and all the way long, I was thinking about what Trelawney had said. So I went…" Lucy swallowed, not knowing how much she was allowed to reveal. "I went to see the Centaurs and ask them if death omens were real."

A whirlwind of emotions rushed through Remus's face.

"The Centaurs!" He finally said. "And did you find them?"

"Yeah… well, this is a long story, but there are two Centaurs that I… well, we're something like friends." Lucy paused for a while, struggling with the fact that she had to equate something as complex and wonderful as Ronan with the single word of _friend_. "So I found them. Centaurs are very particular about what they can, and what they can't reveal of their knowledge, so it took a little persuading... But when I told them I'd seen the Grim, they finally agreed to tell me a thing or two. Most of it matches this description here. So, if the Muggles are right about the Grim – I mean, the Dog –, there's no reason they wouldn't be right about the others, huh?"

"Probably." Remus's gaze was suddenly scrutinizing. "So – you have Centaur friends. Here I was, thinking you could surprise me no longer."

"It's a long story."

"And I am a good listener."

Lucy was on the verge of answering when there was a great, booming sound: a knock on the door, so strong that it reverberated from the windows. The door burst open, only to reveal the most frightening wizard Lucy had ever seen.

The newcomer looked as though his entire figure was roughly carved out of wood; his face was covered in scars, and a chunk of his nose was missing. One of his eyes was small and dark, like a well, and the other one large, wide, and vivid, moving around independently in its socket. Its colour was a bright, electric blue, and when it ceased its mad dance to focus warily on her, Lucy was reminded of her lastingly unpleasant impression of Muggle X-Ray technology.

" _Mad-Eye!"_ Remus exclaimed, and he lowered his wand. "What… When… Has something happened?"

"You could tell, yeah," growled Alastor Moody, and he sank into the nearest chair to stretch his wooden leg. "Dumbledore got yer' last letter and figured it would be better if I came and answered you in person."

"All right, then," said Remus, looking a little tense. "Tea?"

"Don't bother yourself." Moody gave a croaky laugh, and he conjured a flask from his pocket. Lucy tried to look away quickly when the magical eye caught her staring, but the ex-Auror smiled dangerously at her. "Dawlish, eh? I know your Dad…"

"And I know you from hearsay." Lucy narrowed her eyes. "You don't really have carnivorous rubbish bins, do you?"

"Slight overstatement."

Lucy was not entirely satisfied with this answer, but it seemed wiser not to insist. "Hey," she said instead. "Where's Dung?"

"Stunned like a dog in the backyard."

"But… _why?"_

"I don't trust 'em." There was a dangerous flash in Moody's eyes. "And neither should you."

Remus drew a deep breath. "Dumbledore said…"

"I know what he said!" Moody bellowed. "What _I_ am saying, though – and Dumbledore agrees with me –, is that you're being watched! There's a traitor at Hogwarts, Remus. The whole bugger around the Triwizard Tournament is their doing. That's the only logical explanation. Now, we don't know who the black sheep is – yet –, but they could bloody well know all about you and your business! That is to say, you need…"

"… _constant vigilance,"_ said Remus with a faint smile.

"That's my boy!" Moody slammed his fist on the table. "We need to stick together, eh? I'm now stuck in the bloody classroom, but Dumbledore figured he knows someone who might help you. Been visiting 'em. Name's Eldred Worple. Bloke's a bit old-fashioned and sneaky – Slytherin, mind you – and, more importantly, he's friends with that blood-sucker Sanguini. I put him under the misleading impression that Dumbledore was considering binding ties with vampires, and you'll enhance that impression, alright? You'll meet Worple tomorrow behind the post office of this hellhole. Three o'clock. I'd keep Fletcher in the dark if I were you."

"Mundungus is trustworthy," said Remus soothingly. "And even if he wasn't, it would be terribly suspicious to shun him out overnight."

"As you wish!" Moody shrugged. "Had to give my piece of mind, though."

"Dung is too much of an idiot to be a double agent," Lucy blurted out.

"Idiocy is an excellent disguise," said Moody. "As are bloodthirst and paranoia."

There was something about his tone that made Lucy want to stand up and flee. Moody's eyes – both natural and magical – were fixed on her again, as if trying to read her heart.

"Are you saying that Dung is lying to us?"

"Everybody lies," said Moody with a crooked smile. "Merry Christmas, you bunch-a no-gooders," he added.

Next thing they knew, he was gone.

* * *

Lucy sneaked back into her room after breakfast to read her mail. She got a lengthy letter from Bill (attached to which were two tickets to a Hobgoblins gig for the twenty-first of next September), a heartfelt note and home-made fudge from Charlie, several cards from her friends from various countries, and a short (and not less reserved) note from her father, asking her to visit him.

When she unrolled the last parchment, she'd been expecting something like a Gringotts notice, or another message from overseas. Instead, not only was she holding a full letter, but even the handwriting was familiar.

 _Dear Lucy,_

 _We haven't spoken for ages; I don't even know where to start. First of all… let's forget last time – the soap opera around Charlie, and all. I was just so confused, but at the end, it doesn't matter. We're friends – we should stick together, regardless of who you're shagging, and in what remote corner of the world you currently chose to wreak havoc._

 _Speaking of that, I've heard that you came back to London, which is partly why I'm writing this letter. I'd like to meet you sometime. Are you okay with that?_

 _I think you'd like to hear that I passed my Auror trials. It's incredibly weird to even think about it, knowing that from now, I should be responsible and professional and all… although if anyone tries to talk me out of having pink hair, I'll just go bald instead._

 _I'd always pictured I would celebrate with you after my initiation, and now I feel down. I miss you, old hag._

 _Say hello to Bill and Charlie from me!_

 _Merry Christmas,_

 _Dora_

Lucy read the letter thrice over, her fingers drumming on the table. Then she made her decision and worded her answer.

 _My Dearest Nymphadora,_

(Here, she paused, adding a few twirls and decorations to her friend's beloved first name).

 _It was great to hear from you, and I look forward to the next season of our soap opera. Sadly, you're slow as ever, and you haven't managed to catch me while I was still in the country. I can't tell you where I am now, and if I told you what I was doing, I doubt you'd believe as much as a word of it. Rest assured that it pays well. Bill isn't with me, though – you can sneak into Gringotts to meet him._

 _Congrats on becoming a tight-collared Ministry spinster, we'll drink to that._

 _Merriest of Christmases,_

 _Lucy_

 _P. S.: If you write me again, my reply may arrive very late, or not at all – things are getting busy here, and the environment is not what I'd call owl-friendly._

Lucy was still smiling when she clicked the lid of the inkwell and cast a Drying Charm on her letter. Her quarrels with Dora seemed far away, as if they'd happened with someone else; and it was good to know that she felt the same way.

Lucy granted herself one minute of quiet contemplation, then she snatched Remus's letter out of her pocket, and smoothed it out. Apart from a few coal-stains, it had remained intact.

It read:

 _Moony,_

 _The thing I told you about has happened once again, and I have a very bad feeling about it._

 _Seems like we're dealing with a spy. How original._

 _Be extremely careful with any relation you have with the Ministry, no matter how indirect. Strange things have happened since last June, and they somehow seem connected… It's the well-known scenario: people go missing – first Bertha Jorkins, and now, as it seems, Barty Crouch –, someone jinxes the Goblet of Fire, and still no one has any idea where that World Cup Riot had come from…_

 _Any other time, I'd be delighted to watch Fudge fall into the pit he's been digging, but not now. I feel a shitstorm coming._

 _Don't waste your ink – I'm okay. No one will find me here… or if they do, I'll give them my best poster look._

 _Merry Christmas,_

 _Pads_

 _P.S. I hope you still like these delicious fuckers._

"Moony," Lucy murmured, feeling slightly guilty. Whatever she had been expecting, it was not a simple, private message with Christmas greetings. Still… _what was in this letter that had made Mundungus so excited…?_ Clearly, he had recognised the writer, and he hadn't been expecting Remus to be contacted by him. Or her? (It sounded like a _him,_ though, and the thin calligraphy was somewhat masculine as well).

Maybe it was someone from the Ministry… or someone from Hogwarts, Lucy concluded. Whoever the writer was, though, he apparently knew Remus well enough to send him macarons for Christmas, and that fact – to her surprise and alarm – thrust the blade of jealousy into her stomach.

Lucy shook her head dismissively. She had no time to _feel_ anything, let alone _jealousy_ – not now. Not on this mission.

And definitely not toward Remus Lupin.

" _Incendio!"_ She murmured, and watched the parchment burn.

 _ **(to be continued)**_

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

"Dora" is Nymphadora Tonks. She met Lucy at Hogwarts - she is two years younger than her, and she was sorted into Hufflepuff while Lucy into Gryffindor, but they became close friends by Lucy's fifth year.

…and I think everybody knows who "Pads" is.

The poem Remus reads out is _"A Coat"_ by W. B. Yeats.


	4. Cold Trails

**Chapter 4 – Cold Trails**

It was a bright, clear summer day, the sky a dazzling, almost blinding blue as it embraced the sharp line of Harghita on the horizon. The peaks had lost their caps of snow long ago, and they were now stretching out against the skies like giant, fissured arrow-heads. The air writhed with stifling heat, which made the appearance of the man in the old-fashioned grey coat and seedy leather boots all the more curious.

The man halted for a moment and tried the ground at one place with the tip of his foot. Yesterday, he had found a very convenient puddle at the same spot, which, sadly, has now been transformed into a heap of dried mud. If the village ahead did not meet his expectations, his mount might have to go an entire day without drinking…

With a last, hostile look at the mud, the man shrugged and hurried ahead, tugging a strand of midnight hair impatiently behind his ear. The rest of his tresses were sticking most aggravatingly to the back of his neck and his collar was suffocating him, and that – of course – made him all the snappier.

He was not used to failure and loathed admitting it. His luck had viciously betrayed him – his plans had turned out the worst way possible. Not that it was an excuse: he had _business_ here _._ Running home with his tail between his legs wasn't an option. _Failure_ wasn't an option. Not even if he had to burn alive in his hellhole, damn it!

At the next clearing, the solitary figure halted and took a glance ahead. The valley trail was descending into a deeper cove; into a swaying sea of grass, wildflowers, and golden wheat. A silhouette of a church-tower stood proudly against the azure skies.

Here was another chance. Maybe this time, he would finally have some luck.

* * *

Lucy's fingers were drumming idly on the windowsill.

"Remus?"

"Yeah?"

"Dung is still missing."

"He is."

"We're doing it _tomorrow."_

"Correct."

"So, we're still doing it, right? Without him?"

Remus shifted in his armchair and took a sip of that revoltingly sweet chamomile tea she detested. Lucy's nails continued their concert on the decked wood; they were far too long, and they made far too much noise.

"May I get an answer anytime soon…?"

"I will answer you as soon as I _have_ an answer."

"Don't you, then?"

Remus sighed. They were not having this conversation for the first, nor for the second time.

"If Dung comes back until the appointed hour – which, in my opinion, he will –, then we're following the plan."

"And what if he won't?"

"We will worry about that when the situation presents itself."

Lucy furrowed her brows. "Well, Dumbledore wouldn't be happy if we improvised."

Remus closed his book with a soft _thump._

" _Since when do you give a damn what Dumbledore thinks…?!_ "

" _I don't know!"_ Lucy made a vague gesture with her hand. "It's suspicious. Dung has been acting weirdly for _months_. He could be betraying us the moment we speak. Or he may be captured. Or he may be panicking, and leaving us altogether to hide in Dumbledore's pocket…"

"Or, he might be out selling his stolen cauldrons for all we know." Remus smirked. "Have a little faith!"

"Faith is not what will help us here, Lupin!" Lucy snapped.

"Ah, so now I'm suddenly Lupin again…?"

The witch crossed the threshold with three curt steps, invading Remus's personal space.

"You're the boss – for now," she said, eyes narrowing dangerously. "I'm accepting it. If you want things to stay that way, _answer me._ What will you do if Dung doesn't come back? What will you do if everything changes, and it turns out that the plan we've been making for _months_ is total garbage?"

Remus frowned. "I don't picture you as one incapable of improvisation."

"Improvisation is all right when you're alone," said Lucy. "You know your own limits. But do you think that, like… shitty example, but d'you think that Led Zeppelin or Guns n' Roses would go all impro with a total stranger onstage…? Because when it comes to dealing with vampires, we're still total strangers to each other. You don't know how I'll react, I don't know how you'll react… _I_ don't know how _I'll_ react, for Merlin's sake!"

"All right," said Remus, calm as a frozen lake. "What do you think we _should_ do if Dung doesn't come back? We can't go looking for him. We're out of time."

"Well, time be damned, we bloody well _should_ go look for him!"

"I said we couldn't. We should meet Worple at eight. If we miss this chance…"

"Then we'll get another. There should be another way."

"This is our chance, and we _will_ take it!" Remus's voice was very serious. "It's pity enough that Sanguini's sodding dinner must take place the night _before_ full moon – we can't waste any more time on this! Eldred is our only connection, and we might lose his good graces if we disappoint him. Sanguini wasn't very inclined to meet us in the first place, what do you think will happen if we decline his invitation at the last moment…? There might _never_ be another opportunity to complete the mission Dumbledore trusted us with!"

"Okay, but is that mission worth Dung's life, if, for instance, it's not his beloved cauldrons he's busying himself with this time?"

Remus's eyes hardened.

"Lucy – listen to me, and listen very closely, because I'm not going to repeat myself. _I_ am in charge. _I_ decide what happens and when. _I_ say what we do and how we do it. The things you've done with Bill and your other… associates… it was business. This is _a fight._ A cause. A goal we're working towards, a greater good that might demand sacrifices. The decision, whether we accept that or not, is ours. If you don't want to do this, then you won't. You did not swear an oath. You may leave – but _I_ am going to try and retrieve the key. Tomorrow. There won't be a second chance, I can feel it in my guts."

"I'm not going back on my promise," said Lucy, staring at the wizard with a mixture of hostility and admiration. "I just… I prefer high success rates."

Remus nodded tightly, and with that, the matter was settled.

* * *

In the morning of the tenth of July 1995, the owner of the guesthouse in Harghita-Bai opened the shutters on his window, and saw a tall, hard man waiting patiently in front of his gate. The stranger greeted him in bad Romanian, then (when he was met with a displeased frown), he cautiously tried English, which the owner happened to speak quite well, even though his pronunciation was lousy.

Upon being asked why he didn't try the doorbell, the newcomer only smiled, offering his hand above the low fence.

"I'm good at waiting," he said with visible mirth, and a clear British accent. "Besides…" (here, his eyes pierced viciously through the innkeeper's) "you open at nine."

"Yes, yes, right…" The small, plump man wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. If only his English would come back… "Please, come in! We will find you a nice spot."

The stranger did not move. "Is there any chance you might house a – a horse?"

"Right away sir – but where is it?" The innkeeper looked around, as if waiting for said horse to pop out of thin air.

"Ah, he'll follow me. He's a smart fellow."

"You mean – do you mean that your horse will follow you on its own along an unknown road?" The innkeeper frowned. He was by no means an expert in the subject, but this seemed strange…

"Well, there's nothing wrong with that, is there?" The stranger raised his brows. His eyes were something to be lost in: clear grey and piercing cold, with some strange promise of warmth that outshone the darkness around – darkness that spoke of pain and gripping isolation.

"No, sir," the innkeeper said politely, if somewhat mechanically. "Absolutely nothing."

"Good!" The stranger gave an easy smile, and he opened the gate, although it had been locked ( _it must have been locked,_ thought the innkeeper absently). "Thank you for your hospitality. I assure you, I won't be much trouble – and nor will be Buck."

 _Must be the horse,_ the innkeeper realised.

"I don't picture you as a troublemaker," he offered, to which the newcomer answered with an amused noise under his breath. "Anyway, I'll give you my most airy and remote corner, Mr…?"

"Stiltskin." The man gave a polite half-bow, a gesture reminiscent of, maybe, the nineteenth century…? "Arcturus Stiltskin."

"Arc… Arct… do you mind if I call you Archie, sir?"

The man's smile became wider. "Please, do. And what may I call you?"

"Markus. Just… Markus."

"Very good, Markus. Shall we, then?"

He was ordering him around as if the whole place was his, and the innkeeper hardly even noticed. To be honest, it was strangely reassuring to be ordered around by this well-mannered stranger.

* * *

Arcturus Stiltskin appeared to be a man of high birth and somewhat lofty education. Even his horse looked like a creature of noble breeding, and when Markus held out his hand to greet it with a sugar cube hidden in his palm, it snorted disparagingly, and started pawing the ground.

"A nasty piece of work," said Arcturus Stiltskin with a wink, to which the horse replied with an indignant noise. The man rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, I was _joking!"_

"It's not like he understands you – is it?" Markus took a sidelong look at the man. "You're not one of 'em freaks who mutter to animals… or chase people with those sparkling wooden sticks…"

"The specificity of your accusation is somewhat alarming."

"Ah, forget it…" Markus frowned, then he jumped when the horse nibbed on the tip of his belt. "Hey! Learn some respect, you filthy mule!"

Then, something very strange happened.

The horse raised its head slowly, dangerously, and looked Markus in the eye: right in the eye, challengingly, as if perfectly aware of the degree of his insult.

"Now-now, this is not the way friends talk!" Arcturus stepped in. "He didn't mean it, big boy, alright? He just doesn't know you yet."

Arcturus then intensified the absurdity of the situation by crossing his arms, and saying:

"Markus, it would considerably improve your reputation in Buck's eyes if you bowed before him."

"It would do _what_ if I _what…?!"_

"If you bowed," Arcturus repeated, still smiling. "Just slightly. Back straight. Head straight. He's a very… respectable fellow, you see. It would do marvels."

Markus took a deep breath and bowed, although it seemed all but wise to show the horse the back of his neck. Then, the unexpected, the ridiculous, the impossible happened: the horse bowed in return, its clever eyes still fixed on Markus's face.

"Wonderful!" Arcturus clapped his hands. "I'm sure you will be great friends."

Markus had already learned not to ask too many questions about his guests and their errands; they were, however, so often so strange that he practically needed to keep his eyes shut in order to stay blind. Through the years, he'd become quite skilled at such pretences… This might be the reason why he failed to notice the strange behaviour of the horse: how it picked on insects and rats, how its gaze was rigid and unblinking, how unnaturally it kept its mouth shut. But Markus would not listen, and this might be why Arcturus Stiltskin risked speaking to the horse when he was left alone in the stable.

"We got him, huh…? This was almost too easy." A pause. "Yes, yes, I know, alright? I know."

"You look better with wings, by the way. More useful, too, I reckon."

"…no, I won't let you stay like this for ever. But we can't… _no,_ okay? Just be a good horse for _one other day,_ okay? Just one day, Buck. Tomorrow will be different, I promise. We're going to find Moony."

* * *

Two hooded figures were watching the sunset from the hillside. The taller one seemed lost in the sight of fantastic colours and shapes below his feet while the other kept watch of the surrounding hills, pacing to and fro without cease, as if waiting for a third person to show up.

Later, when the shadows deepened, a third figure _did_ show up, but it did not seem to be the one the watchers had been waiting for. He blended into the shadows like a hunting cat; graceful but sly, lithe but dangerous. Dirt stained his boots and his cloak had seen better days, but he was carrying a giant crossbow.

"It's Worple," said one of the watchers.

"Yes," answered Remus Lupin.

"He's coming."

"Haven't you always been very quick to grasp things…"

" _Save it!"_ Lucy sighed. "I just wanted to tell you that I have a distinct bad feeling about this."

"So you're going all Mad-Eye, determined that Mundungus is betraying us?" Remus rolled his eyes. "He's not an example of bravery, but if there's one thing he'd never do, it's betraying Dumbledore. Trust me, he'll come around. He always does. And…"

" _I said, save it!_ My bad feeling has more to do with Worple than with Dung. There's something weird about this guy…"

"Of course there is – he hangs out with vampires. Now, come on, let's greet him."

"Just remember what I said, alright…?" Lucy sighed, accepting the arm Remus offered her after a moment's hesitation.

"Our plan is good," said the wizard. "Detailed. Thought through… and, most of all, _easy._ We walk in, we meet Sanguini, we play our roles, we get the key, we're out. I drink my Wolfsbane in time, and you take care of the rest. You owl Dumbledore. You run off with the key and _leave me_ , if you have to. Everything will be all right, you'll see."

Lucy nodded. Slowly, they walked down the hillside, and into the trap.

 _ **(to be continued)**_


	5. Harsh Negotiations

**Another warning for coarse language is in order.**

* * *

 **Chapter 5 – Harsh Negotiations**

Sanguini's castle was built upon an overhanging cliff in a lesser region of the Harghita Mountains – and it was _decidedly_ not a place to be approached in an evening dress, Lucy concluded, when her ankle got stuck in a twirl of thorny bogs for the eighth time. As the ground rose, she glimpsed a road below her feet, as it ribboned back to Harghita-Bai, the sleepy Muggle village they had come from. It seemed hard to believe that a vampire lord could keep his existence in secret so close to all those oblivious people – if they _were_ , in fact, oblivious. This was Transylvania… and you could never know.

As soon as they reached the ground level of the castle, Lucy felt some strange heat in the air, surrounding her, draping her into a cloak of mist. It felt oddly like walking through the halls of a thermal bath... The sensation, however, passed as abruptly as it came. Elusive as it was, it could have been just a dream.

"Anti-Apparition Jinx?" Remus tensed.

"Security measure," said Worple with a grin that bared his greyed teeth. "My friend has considerable experience in dealing with thieves, and I'm all too happy to give him the protection he deserves."

"Can't Sanguini himself use magic?" Lucy wanted to know. "Like – I guess vampires aren't allowed to have wands…"

"Not in theory," Worple blinked. "And nor in _practice,_ as far as I know. Anyway, they would soon grow bored of it, even if they were. Their magic is simpler, albeit more elemental and mysterious than that of wizards – it doesn't truly require the use of a wand."

"What do you mean by _more elemental…?"_

"Less conscious." Worple laughed. "You'll see."

"Vampires, as I have heard, alter the world around them, subconsciously, so it would better serve their needs – which is one of the key goals of alchemy as a science," said Remus with a flawless pretence of professional curiosity. "I hope we shall find the time to converse about that…"

And on he went with the senseless chatter, able to make it sound _sincere,_ able to make her sigh inwardly at what a nerd he was. Lucy supposed that the source of such information could only be one of the heavy books they'd engaged to read in preparation for their mission. Not that she had ever made it further than the first _Table of Contents._

Right now, however, the Anti-Apparition Jinx worried her far more than the magical potential of vampires. If something, _anything_ went wrong, they would need to run at least a hundred yards to be able to escape... And who knew where the borders of the spell were in _other_ directions…?

Remus squeezed her hand under the veil of darkness, as if he'd guessed her thought; and Lucy loathed to admit that she feltinstantly reassured. With Dung, things have never been easy, but she and Remus were a _team_ now, and she trusted him. _Yes,_ she came to _trust him,_ although she had tried not to; and it was natural, _way too natural_ to hold his hand now, as the gaping darkness of the castle garden swallowed their figures.

She hoped that he did not feel the same.

"We are here," Worple said with a wide gesture. "The first few rooms will be dark – security measures, see – but you may find torchlight and suitable entertainment in the back. My friend will meet you shortly after midnight; he will send me to fetch you. Until then, make yourselves at home! My dear Sanguini has many friends – humans and other creatures – and they will all be delighted to make your acquaintance, well-travelled as you are!"

With that, he was gone; and Lucy was left in the dark, still holding Remus Lupin's hand.

"We should go," the wizard offered, but they both refused to move. "…Act Two is on. I'm an alchemist, and you…"

"I have a better idea than Act Two."

"And may I ask what it is…?"

" _This,"_ said Lucy matter-of-factly, and she lifted their joint hands. "I've never brought it up – kinda edgy for your average secret mission in mortal danger, mind you – but I've already thought about it…"

"Thought about what?" Said Remus in a choked voice.

Lucy was quite sorry she could not see his face in the dark. Sometimes, he was snarkier than a sullen Jarvey; other times, he was _so_ easy to tease…

"It would be quite believable, you see," she said casually, as if they were comparing strategies at an office meeting. "One tiny snog in a not-so-dark corner, and no one will wonder why we disappeared…"

"I thought you didn't want to improvise," said Remus. She could tell he was trying to sound cheeky, but he was trying somewhat too hard.

"Anything for the success of the mission," Lucy drawled. When Remus continued to stare stupidly at her, she laughed, and pinched his nose. "Come on, let's _socialize."_

She pulled him towards the centre of the crowd, into the flicker of torches and the subtle heat of puffing breaths, ignoring the goose-bumps that slid up her arms under the sleeves of her dress. She would be freezing for the rest of the evening; better pretend that she never even _felt_ it. It was just so stupid, really – she could have had enough wits to depend she was some Russian celebrity, and sported a giant fur-coat…

She dragged Remus around the castle hall, introducing herself as Miranda Selwyn to numerous bizarre people, Goblins, vampires and even a Centaur, who demanded a lengthy account about her dealings with Magorian's herd. A Goblin showed them around the tables, introducing them to Bloody Berries, Magpie's Munchkins, and something that looked suspiciously like dried rat brains…

"Did you know of Mr Sanguini's love for rock music?" Remus asked the Goblin in a soft undertone that suggested that he'd much rather listen to something else than the musicians playing in the back of the hall.

"Wha – the band?" The Goblin snorted. "Yea – well, I don't think much o' them meself. _British_ folks, like you lot… Sanguini invited 'em to play at the party tomorrow as well – some wizard friends o' his are coming, important wizards as I hear. So now they're warmin' up."

" _Important wizards?"_ Lucy frowned. Suspicion rose in her like a waking dragon – she could not exactly tell why, though. It was a gut feeling.

Their subtle inquiries, however, did not earn them much information; instead, they both had to start giving some away. To Lucy's annoyance, the Goblin proved quite skilled in Alchemy, and for the upcoming long, _long_ minutes, he and Remus were engaged in a highly unintelligible conversation – one she occasionally interrupted by a soft sigh, subtle and elegantly feminine, swaying quite skilfully on the brink of open annoyance.

Thankfully, Goblins were more attentive than werewolves, and their companion finally retired, saying that he'd never detain such a _lovely_ young lady from dancing. Lucy smiled inwardly at the flash of panic in Remus's eyes, and gracefully overlooked the uncertainty of his steps as she led him towards the centre of the hall, to get lost in a labyrinth of dancers.

At least she'd let some of the strain out.

* * *

"Not a natural, are you?" Lucy smirked when Remus messed up the rhythm for the fifth time.

"Not a lover of incoherent _garage noises_ ," he bit back. "How are you supposed to even _enjoy_ that?"

"You don't know them? They're the _Hobgoblins_. I must say I'm positively surprised… I expected to be swished and span around to some creepy Victorian tunes…"

"The only _Hobgoblins_ I know are printed on candy papers," Remus murmured. "And you read too much Muggle trash novels."

"Don't you ever need cheap entertainment, Mr Wolf?"

Remus turned his head, clumsily disguising the movement as a change in the lead. "Don't call me that."

"It was supposed to be what people usually call, you know, a _joke_ …"

Remus swung her around in his arms, a bit less clumsily than before. "I've had this stupid friend… back in Hogwarts. He'd call me Mr Wolf all the time."

"The one who sent you the macarons for Christmas?"

She felt his arm tensearound her waist. "Another."

Lucy waited some eight or ten heartbeats, swaying idly to the music, before pressing further.

"So your friends – they knew…"

"Eventually, they had to figure it out," Remus said thoughtfully, with a hint of dry laughter in his voice. "In a few months, I'd ran out of lies about my dying mom and stuff, so they did a little spying, then a little more research to find out why I had something _incredibly_ urgent and important to do each and every month, precisely at full moon…" Remus shook his head. "I thought I was _really_ subtle and smart – but in truth, it was a miracle that the whole school didn't find out. My friends helped me quite a deal to keep the secret. And they didn't hate me for it, which seemed, honestly, a bit too nice to be true."

"I imagine," said Lucy softly. She fought the gushing urge of honesty for a few seconds, then gave up. "I've known great people at school, too. But I was such a shitty friend to them that they didn't… well, I thought I'd never hear about them again. But one of them sent me a letter at Christmas. She'd been my closest friend for _years._ Now, she wants to see me… and I said okay… but I'm not sure I could speak to her."

"I think you will have to," said Remus softly. They swayed through the room, finally having found the rhythm, and the torchlight blurred into flaming orange patches around them. "Sometimes… people come back, and they _find you,_ no matter where you are. Then, you must face them."

"And what if I can't…?"

" _You will,"_ said Remus. His voice was very gentle, and he held the sides of her face, in a way that made her weak; in a way no one really had since a boy named Myron – back when she was still _nice,_ and _he_ was seventeen, and she had her nose pierced for the first time.

It felt like a loop in time, still – this wasn't Myron Wagtail smiling at him, this was just _Remus_ – kind, familiar, and _natural_ like a breath of fresh air. He was looking at her lips, and with a pang of weariness, she knew what would happen next. _Remus_ or not, he was still just a man… and men all wanted the same thing.

"Wonderful evening, isn't it?" Said the sharp voice of Eldred Worple behind her back.

It was _terribly amusing_ to watch the wave of unveiled annoyance that rushed through Remus's face…

"Quite," Lucy said in her best posh voice, and quickly turned to Worple. "Shall we now have the chance to meet our host? I must say I'm _anxious_."

"In a moment," said Worple with a sly smile. "Follow me, if you would."

They broke out of the circle of torchlight and climbed a _long_ set of marble stairs; they turned left in an abandoned-looking corridor, then right, then left again; afterwards, their route took a sharp turn, and other stairs followed. Within a span of minutes, Lucy knew that she had to give up memorizing their route if she wanted to keep her senses sharp.

The air was even colder here; so cold that she began to tremble. At one point, she considered casting a nonverbal Warming Charm on her dress, but no spell could maintain its heat, and she knew it would be _infuriating_ to recast it every five minutes, then wait until she was freezing again.

"I thought Sanguini would join us at the feast," said Remus when they began climbing the third set of stairs. The noises of the feast below were now entirely muffled by both the distance and a series of thick stone walls – so much so that Lucy was reminded of Paris, and catacombs, and Bill Weasley.

"Oh, he rarely does that." Worple waved his hand, so that the light of his wand flickered on a broken mirror. "Whenever he throws a feast, it is for his friends. Our host is very… _reserved,_ you know. Meets only the selected few."

"He honours us," said Lucy smoothly. _This is something Dad would probably say,_ she thought, and the mere knowledge of _that_ was enough to make her recoil.

"Oh, he does, doesn't he?" Worple grinned, and he stopped in front of a two-winged black door. "And look – we're here."

He waved his wand, and the door-wings opened, revealing a luxurious parlour with faded velvet curtains and large, squashy armchairs. The room – which was, in fact, more like a whole suite – was robust and high-walled, with large rose windows that seemed to reach more than twenty feet high (or was it thirty…?) their tops veiled by growing darkness. Lucy suspected that some kind of magic was at work here – she had expected to encounter some form of it much earlier, in fact. After Hogwarts, it was incredibly strange to walk around in a castle where the portraits did not move, and the exhibited suits of armour did not clatter menacingly when you passed them…

As soon as she entered the room, however, Lucy's attention immediately turned from the walls to the centre of the room, where their host sat in one of those gorgeous armchairs. Lucy had never seen a vampire before, but at first glance, it seemed like she had not been missing out on much – Sanguini looked disturbingly _human_ with his slim figure (he was visibly tall and gangly, even as he sat), his long, shiny dark hair and the purplish circles beneath his eyes that stood out of his otherwise ghastly pale face. _A touch of eyeliner, and he could audition for the Weird Sisters,_ Lucy thought, not without scorn.

She felt a wave of heat behind her back, sudden and sharp like a whip-crack. Turning back, she saw that the doorway was blocked by a wall of green flames.

"Another security measure?" She asked lightly.

"My magic knows that you are carrying a weapon," said Sanguini. His voice was flat, without any hint of anger, or even annoyance.

"Well, we have our wands, of course – " Remus began, but he was immediately cut off by their host, who did not even seem aware of his presence.

"A weapon, human. You have a weapon stuck in your ear."

 _So much for being discreet,_ Lucy thought. She plucked out her left earring and removed both the Shrinking and Gilding Charms from it, revealing its natural form.

"Here you go," she said, as sympathetically as she could manage. "I did not plan on using it against you, though."

"A Centaur's bow," said Sanguini softly, and something flared up in his eyes, although he still did not stand, raise his hand, or make the slightest motion towards his guests. "How many did you kill for it?"

"Look at me. Do you think I'd be still _alive_ if I raised my hand against a Centaur?"

Sanguini tilted his head, very slightly, and raised his eyes to meet hers. They were the colour of blood.

"Yes," he said softly. "I think you would. You _smell_ like danger."

"Well, uh, _thank you…?"_ Lucy stammered. For some reason, this felt like the nicest compliment she'd heard in a long while. "Nice of you to receive us."

"I have not _received_ you yet, human," said the vampire, with the smallest of smiles playing on his lips. "Nor you, werewolf," he added lazily, with a grin that showed his sharp teeth.

"And will you?" said Remus. His voice was honeyed with politeness, but Lucy could feel his radiating uneasiness – as if the wolf within was suddenly awake, and alert, and _very unhappy_ of having been discovered. If Worple, for his part, was surprised by the revelation, he did not show it – he merely stood and waited, with a blank, solemn expression that made suspicion rise within Lucy…

"Patience," said Sanguini. His gaze was now resting on them, but his body remained entirely rigid and motionless like a corpse. "First, we talk. I hear that you're interested in my key…"

It took Lucy's best effort not to scream. _He knew it._ He already knew _everything,_ but how? Were vampires Legilimentes? Or was Worple one, without them knowing? Have they been overheard? Followed? Framed?

Well, certainly, they were _currently_ being framed.

"I see that you have fallen silent," said Sanguini with a smirk. "Now come on, will you not try and convince me, now that you've gotten this far? Will Dumbledore's spies not even _try…?_ I must say I'm disappointed."

Lucy risked a look at Remus and paled at the look he saw in his eyes. He seemed to have already accepted the truth – the quiet, stern conviction that was starting to settle in her as well: that of having been betrayed.

"Come on!" Sanguini raised his hands – it was, in fact, almost reassuring to finally see him move. "Not even an ounce of denial? A scream of shock? _Nothing at all…?_ "

"We mean no harm," said Remus quietly. "Let me explain…" His grip tightened around his wand.

"That would just _not do,"_ said Eldred Worple behind them. "You would raise a weapon against your kind host? Is that your kind of _explanation?"_

"Quiet, Eldred!" Sanguini smiled magnanimously. "Let us not waste any more time on liars. My guests are waiting."

Lucy caught a flicker of those red, unblinking eyes; a flicker of scorn, and menace; and her hand moved on her own, grasping her wand – but she was late.

" _Seize them!"_ The vampire commanded in an inhuman, high-pitched tone; and for a moment, it seemed that the castle _itself_ moved readily at his command. The green flames at the door crackled and hissed; the very walls seemed to cramp and darken, and the suits of armour sprang to life in the corners, circling them, _attacking_ them.

" _No!"_ Lucy screamed, when an iron hand grabbed her shoulder and shook her so hard that she dropped her wand. It rolled along the marble floor, far ahead, under the closest armchair…

Suddenly, Remus was upon her, lifting her up and screaming into her ear – _LEAVE IT!_ – then dropping her unceremoniously when a large, golden hand seized his ankle and pulled him back.

" _Remus!"_ Lucy protested. The fall left her gasping for breath. "My wand… they took my wand…"

"I know," said Remus. "Listen… _oh, for fuck's sake!"_

He was truly furious now; Lucy could tell. He kicked viciously at the suit of armour that was still grabbing at his leg, and moved to yank **it** out of its grasp with one, fluid motion…

…there was a horrible, sickening _crack,_ and he fell on his knees, trembling with pain.

"Oh, no," said Lucy, wide-eyed and frightened, barely even aware of the metal hands gripping her arms. "Your leg. _Your leg._ "

Remus bit his lip, and Lucy knew that he was stifling whimpers of pain; but his eyes were dry, and bright with fury and determination.

"Go," he whispered. "Run. Run for your life."

Lucy shook her head. "But how…"

"Find a way. I'll give you a chance…"

The metal fingers were _hurting_ her arms.

"GO!"

There was a loud, echoing _boom._ Next thing Lucy knew, she was out in the corridor, with her dress up her thighs, her legs scarred from a hard fall, and the taste of blood in her mouth. The power of some unknown spell had sent her flying over the flames in the doorway – she was out in the corridor now, alone and freezing, and she could hear the muffled sounds of fighting from inside.

She got on her feet, pulled down the skirts of her dress, and ran.

* * *

 _Go,_ Remus had said. _Run for your life_.

And run she did, not solely because she had to, but also because she _wanted_ to. Running was good. _Liberating._ It cleared her head. It made her strangely _aware_ of the way her heart pounded, the way her legs patted their way in the bristly mountain grass, the way sweat broke on her back under the soft fabric of her dress. It also made her aware of whence she was running, and _why._

And…

 _My wand,_ she thought, and panic hit her like a brick in the chest – she almost fell. _They've got my wand._

She had no hope of Apparating without her wand. She could not fight without her wand. She could not find the directions of the compass without her wand. She could not Transfigure her clothing back to normal without her wand. Hell, _she was nothing and no one without her wand._

All she had left were her nails and teeth, her wits, and her looks. Come to think of it, the immodest cleavage of her robe was likely to prove more useful than any measure of physical force. All she needed now was some bloke to _rescue her,_ and she knew she'd find one down in the village.

Yes… yes, she could do this. She only had to get back down to Harghita-Bai. There, she'd find a way to somehow make this right.

It was such a _shame_ they'd captured Remus, really. The knowledge of it thrusted a dagger of guilt among her ribs: a constant reminder that she was worrying about her wand and her _clothing_ while Remus, gentle and sweet Remus was probably tortured in a dark cellar.

But what could she do…? Without her wand, she was about as useless as a first-year Hogwarts student.

The forest swallowed her up – she had removed her shoes, and her bare feet left no trace in the undergrowth. Her instinct knew where to step, and she knew how to rely on it, how not to think, how not to feel. For a couple of minutes, she had heard the sounds of pursuit in her heels, then distance ate them up.

She was _free._ She did not get the key, but she was in one piece. She had survived.

With that dawning realization came utter, merciless exhaustion; and a few heartbeats later, Lucy collapsed under a giant oak tree. She had never been good at preserving her strength, Bane had told her so – and yet he gave her his bow.

Which was now also trapped in Sanguini's castle, along with her wand.

 _And Remus._

"I told him, _I told him_ that something was wrong!" Lucy scowled at the tree, as if she was waiting for an answer. "We should've never entered that goddamn place. But _of course,_ Remus Lupin, paragon of dutifulness, had to _do the right thing._ So stupid. _I told him._ I knew this would happen. Or worse. I was sure as _FUCKING HELL!"_

She wanted to kick the oak tree, to set the thick, pinny roots on fire so they would let go, _let go_ of the earth and come with her to float in space… but Ronan had taught her to respect trees, at least, if not people; so she shut her eyes, and stifled her next string of curses, as if that could ease the pounding in her head.

"…and now they've got him," she told the oak tree. "And my _wand._ And Dung has disappeared. Deep in the cauldron-business again, for sure… because why would he turn his precious attention to the FUCKING MISSION THAT BROUGHT US A MILLION FUCKING MILES FROM HOME, GOD DAMN IT!"

Wind rose in the north and it shook the crooked branches, so the leaves whispered and sang, their dull edges like a million tiny mouths gaping at her, _laughing_ at her.

"That's five thousand Galleons thrown out the window thanks to Remus fucking Lupin," Lucy huffed. "I was going to be _rich,_ you know. And now… now I can go and buy a new wand, thank you very much. It will cost me a _fortune._ And I'll get thrown out of the digs again. _And they've got Remus…_ and _what the fuck will I tell Dumbledore when he looks at me with those privy blue eyes of his?_ Damn it… How on Earth will I warn him in time? _I can't Apparate_ … We should have at least brought Fawkes with us, damn, we should have…"

 _What do I do now? I can't even Apparate.._.

No – she could certainly not, under the present circumstances, Apparate. That cold truth settled in her mind, then crystallised, true and clear like a beacon-light above a raging sea; and suddenly, she felt sober.

 _I have to find Dung_. This was the second thing she knew to be true. Dung was not likely to turn the course of events with a snap of his fingers like Dumbledore would, but at least he could help her leave this country – better not waste any more precious time on lamenting about other things, then – things she could not change.

"Okay," she told the tree. "Okay, I'll go and find Dung… and we'll go back to England…"

Her chest was suddenly heavy.

"… _I can't do that, can I?_ I can't leave Remus in there. They'd torture him, or worse. He knows everything about Dumbledore and his dealings… much more than I do… I _really_ can't leave without him, huh?"

"…well, _fuck."_

The tree did not offer its condolences, nor any means of solace.

"Besides," said Lucy slowly, as the flame of determination flared up in her mind, "Remus is my _friend._ It's just that… ah, bugger. It doesn't matter, does it? I will _have to_ go back. I might even get the key… and my five thousand Galleons. Yep. Five _thousand._ Could be worth a try."

Lucy turned away from the tree, and its stray branches, and the whispers of the wind. She had been apart from the Centaurs for far too long to understand them.

"I'd be richer than Gwenog Jones," she muttered under her breath as she sneaked slowly downhill. "I'd be fucking _insane_ if I didn't at least _try."_

She refused to acknowledge the fact that the promise of five thousand Galleons was, at present, the least of her concerns.

 _(to be continued)_

* * *

 _A/N: I took the courage to use a third declension Latin plural for 'legilimens' – I figure it would have one._


	6. Wandless Charms

_**A/N:**_ _So here I am… having to warn my readers about [deep breath]_ _ **sexual content**_ _for the first time in the 10 years of my fic-publishing "career". There. You have been warned._

 _I'd also like to point out three things: (1) Lucy's previously mentioned birth year has been changed (from 1972 to 1970) which makes her two years older than Dora instead of being her classmate. (2) After weeks of reflexion, I've decided against censoring this chapter. Lucy Dawlish reserves her right to be a not-so-great person… at least, at this stage of her development. (3) This is my first time publishing romance and I'd like to do it right… in the sense that I'd like to make it real. Therefore, sometimes it will be witty, sometimes graphic, sometimes uplifting, sometimes heroic… and sometimes horrible, painful, ugly and disgusting. In my experience, love has at least that many faces… so in case you're here to read about nice healthy relationships, I'm not quite your cup of tea as an author._

 _Any kind of feedback is appreciated!_

* * *

 **Chapter 6 – Wandless Charms**

Lucy found Mundungus Fletcher in the local inn, deeply immersed in what he claimed to be his "new area of research": a set of weird-named Hungarian drinks he'd won through a series of chance in _poker._ Having been acquainted with this particular piece of information, Lucy thought she was about to start spitting flames like her dragon.

"…but it's not all!" Dung was oblivious to the early signs of her rage. "I have _news_ …"

"Yeah?" Lucy's voice crept some three pitches higher. _"News?_ You know what, you piece of doxy excrement…? I have _news_ for you, too, and you won't _fucking_ thank me when you'll hear them!"

Mundungus blinked.

"Is there a – a problem, or somethin'?"

" _A problem?"_ Lucy tilted her head. She could have teased him onfor _minutes,_ and in another context, she would have even enjoyed it… but every second was costly now.

" _Remus,"_ she blurted out. "Sanguini's got Remus in his castle. We've got to rescue him."

"And the key?"

" _Fuck_ the key," Lucy declared. "We've gotta go. _Now."_

Mundungus grabbed her by the shoulder, his eyes suddenly sober. "Nah. We ain't goin' nowhere. That bloodsucker's _expecting you._ You're gonna sit, and calm the heck down, and we'll figure it out…"

" _There is nothing to figure out!"_ Lucy snapped. "Dung, we've been planning this shit since _forever,_ and it _completely_ failed! I don't know why it happened, but we need to go and find Remus. He'll make things okay again. Alone, we'll never… those wankers have even snatched my _wand,_ damn it!"

"That's how you want to rescue a werewolf at full moon, huh? Without a wand!"

Lucy's eyes widened.

"Oh shit _. Oh shit,_ you're right. I forgot… it's tomorrow… Dung, he's not even taken his Wolfsbane! He'll attack people… and hurt himself… what if they start a hunt on him? Or kill him, or something…? We really need to _go…"_

"Wow…" Mundungus grinned. "You've got a _massive_ crush on him."

"This is not about me having a crush on anyone," Lucy bit back, "but rather about trying to save the _brains_ in our team from getting savagely murdered."

Dung squinted at her. "Yeah, yeah… we'll figure it out, okay? I promise. You know who I'll contact? Moody! That's one tough guy, even if he's kinda crazy… might help us get past the gates... Meet me in two hours at the guesthouse. Get a beer, or somethin', and _stay outta trouble._ They might be already after you."

* * *

Lucy would have largely preferred to run another mile, walk around in the village, climb trees, or cross the mountain-stream nearby on a makeshift boat… _anything_ but to sit idly and wait.

She forgot to ask Mundungus toUntransfigure that provocative dress, back to her normal set of blouse and jeans; so here she was, wrapped in a tight knot against the chill of the night without her wand, her courage, and her dignity.

She had not felt this exposed, this _humiliated_ since that one incident in a guardroom, far-far away, on the other side of the globe. Dumbledore had saved her skin that time… him, and Aunt Ro… but Dumbledore was far away now, and she had not spoken to Aunt Ro ever since.

Well, here she was now – no longer a little girl, but a woman grown; and respectively, she had managed to get herself into _real_ trouble for once. _Grown-up_ kind of trouble, so to say. Sanguini was somewhat less likely to treat her right than MACUSA officers if he were to catch her… not that anyone _would_ catch her, of course. She will find a way to avoid that. _She must_.

Finally, Lucy took Mundungus's advice; not only did she get herself a beer, but she also made every effort within her power to appear as ordinary, quiet, shy (and _Muggle)_ as possible.

She did not, however, manage to stay out of trouble for very long.

* * *

The only inn in Harghita-Bai had not only a guesthouse, a large garden and excellent food, but a lounge as well, and there – as in most every lounge – were men who could not contain themselves when a pretty woman came in sight (especially if said woman happened to wear a way-too-revealing dress). Lucy had hardly sat down with her beer when she heard them whistling and laughing among themselves. She spoke enough Romanian to catch a few remarks about her certain body parts and the things they would do with them. Some of the ideas were quite _original_ , at least…

She took a sip of her beer – thin, and somewhat bitter, too – then glanced at the loudest of her rowdy suitors. The man would have been quite handsome, if not for his large, bulbous nose… Statue of Secrecy aside, Lucy figured that he would look much cooler with tentacles on his face.

 _If only she had her wand_ …

The men caught her glance and took it as a permission. They left their seats, and Lucy clutched on her beer. Without her wand, she was just a _girl,_ petite and frail… somehow, she doubted that her venomous tongue would be of help this time.

The door of the inn opened in the back, and suddenly, she found herself engulfed in a gush of icy wind.

 _If only she could get around the table, she would be free…_

The drunkards were surrounding her now. One of them said something in Romanian and they all laughed. There were four of them – all convinced about their _very_ intimidating nature.

"Good evening, pals," said Lucy neutrally. "Sorry, but I don't speak fuckface."

The term _fuckface_ seemed to get through the language barrier. Bulbous Nose stopped dead in his tracks and glared menacingly at her, growling a certain word she knew all too well. It was one of those words you'd want to know in every language…

" _Is there a problem, gentlemen?"_

A tall man was standing in the doorway, windswept and scrappy, as one who came straight from the woods – he _was,_ in fact, what Lucy would call _intimidating_. Maybe it was the long, ruffled midnight hair, or the sharp jawline, or the icy grey eyes or the billowing coat; but there was _something_ about this man that screamed _don't mess with me_.

"No English," Bulbous Nose declared.

"Oh, right," said the tall man. "Then we'll make this international. _Let go of her, you son of a poxy whore."_

Each of his words were accompanied by vivid (and unmistakeable) gestures, in a manner that was somehow outrageously rude and neatly aristocratic at the same time. Bulbous Nose's face darkened, but he made no further attempt to stir a conflict. He said something in Romanian that Lucy was probably better off without understanding, then stormed out of the bar with his friends.

"What a bunch of doxy shit, that lot," the tall man murmured, then his eyes met Lucy's. "You alright?"

 _Doxy shit,_ Lucy thought. _He said doxy shit_.

"Yeah…" She arranged her features into a smile. "Thanks for being my random knight of chivalry tonight."

"It's Fuckface you should thank, princess," said the tall man, and he leaned against the frame of the door. "There's no proper knight without a dragon. Although you could argue that Fuckface is more like a squeaking bunny, and I like a rabid dog."

Lucy smirked. "Well, I'm not exactly a princess, either."

She took another sip of her beer, feeling his eyes on her.

"You're from downtown London," the tall man suddenly said.

"How did you know?"

"Probably because I am, too."

"Should've known." Lucy turned the jug between her fingers. "See, an alarming number of downtown Londoners see themselves as rabid dogs."

The tall man eyed her, startled, and she could have sworn there was a smile hovering over his lips. It somehow made his grey eyes flare up; and Lucy noted to herself the evident, but entirely useless information that they were _amazingly bright, and clear_. She had to look away, lest her face would betray her… and then, _she saw it._ To truly understand what it was, you had to look for it – but it was _there,_ and it was visible.

 _The end of a thin wooden stick, poking out from the pocket of his cloak._

"Everything all right there, Archie, sir?" The innkeeper walked in with a wet cloth in his hand, to clean the tables.

"Sure," said the tall man. "Been dealing with a waste of space."

"Ah, don't tell me they passed here again," the innkeeper sighed. "I threw them out for good… I might tell Jan not to serve them anymore…"

"Well, they seem drawn to your watered beer, Markus. You'd better switch to whiskey." The tall man grinned. "Speaking of which… do you still have that Old Scotch? _Mademoiselle_ here needs something to settle her nerves."

Lucy doubted that even _all_ the whiskey in the world would be enough to settle her nerves – she was, in fact, more than a little disgusted with herself, now that she realised what she was to do if she wanted to see Remus out of that castle anytime soon.

 _Don't be a tit,_ she scolded herself. _How is this different from Occlumency? Or deception? Think of Remus, and your five thousand bloody Galleons._

The whiskey was served, and her chance with it – so she breathed in, breathed out and smiled, all the sweet innocence of the world in her eyes.

"So… _Archie,_ right?"

"It's Arcturus… but the keeper here is such a sweet fella'. I won't make him pronounce it."

" _Arcturus,"_ Lucy echoed. "Like the star?"

"Yeah," said the tall man, surprised, "like the star. And what may I call my wayward princess?"

"Anything you like." Lucy shrugged. "Worst case scenario, you get bitchslapped."

Arcturus laughed. It was a short laugh, and sharp, and actually, it almost sounded like a bark. "Do you have something dark and ugly to hide, or is it just that you secretly like to be called _princess?"_

"I'm _openly_ curious about what sort of other names you would come up with."

The tall man sloshed the whiskey around in his glass, then swallowed it with one gulp.

"Well, I don't know," he said tentatively, "but it would be something sharp… and _incredibly_ pretty."

Lucy blushed. Downright _blushed_ , like a stupid little teenage girl. The red flag of _discomfiture_ spread all over her face, betraying her, exposing her…

 _Fuck those wonderful eyes of his,_ she decided. It was probably even a good thing that she blushed, though. It was _effective._

"Do you always drink like this," she asked when Arcturus drained his second helping of whiskey, "or is it just that you have absolutely no idea about your limits?"

He grinned. "What do you think?"

 _I think that you shouldn't make this any easier for me,_ she thought; but all she did was shrug, and smile, and slide her legs closer to his under the table.

"I still don't know your name, princess." The tall man glanced at her.

"Well…" Lucy squinted at her drink. "Let's say I'm Porphyria."

" _Porphyria?_ Like Browning's lover?"

 _Educated, are we?_ Lucy thought, and she smiled mysteriously.

"You can't expect me to believe you're _actually_ called Arcturus. What's next…? You fly a magic broom to hunt bogeymen?" She laughed, as if the concept of bogeymen was the funniest thing she could imagine.

"I actually hunt werewolves," said Arcturus. "One in particular. A real _bastard,_ that one."

Lucy snorted. "One more helping of whiskey, and you'll tell me about winged gnomes and unicorns."

"I'm afraid that this is my natural state," said Arcturus, and he refilled both their glasses. Their legs were touching now.

"…so that's why you came as far as Transylvania? To find people who tolerate you?"

"Are you always this delightfully snarky?"

Arcturus was smiling now – not smirking, or grinning like before, but actually _smiling,_ and something softened in those thrice-damned eyes of his. Lucy fought a wave of unwanted attraction, one that made her mouth dry and her pulse quicken.

"What are you doing tonight, werewolf hunter?"

"Hopefully – you?"

 _Scruffy looks aside, he would be irresistible if he didn't look so IMMENSELY pleased with himself,_ Lucy thought as she leaned into him.

"Arcturus,sweetheart," she whispered, her lips almost touching his ear. "Tell me– has that absolute piece of _bullshit_ ever worked on anyone before?"

She propped her chin up with her elbow and looked at him innocently above the table – then, they both burst out laughing. Lucy drained the rest of her whiskey, and when Arcturus reached for the bottle to serve her more, she caught his wrist, drew him closer and kissed him.

It was not what she'd expected, to be sure. The tall man froze for a second, and she could feel his breath hitch and his heartbeat quicken, as if he was not used to being touched. For a second, she thought she'd made a terrible mistake – but then he relaxed, and drew her close, and kissed her back; slow and sweet, then harder, bolder, more _inappropriate_.

Then came a moment when Lucy's hand found the wand in his pocket, cool and smooth and strangely alien to the touch. The lounge was downlit and empty around them, and no one would have seen her, really, if she were to… _but no,_ she argued with herself as she worked her fingers up the tall man's chest, _it would be impossible to leave him here, someone would see…_

She had to get him out of here.

The door gave a creak – maybe it was the innkeeper coming and going, or maybe it was Bulbous Nose returning with a chainsaw… honestly, it could have been Sanguini himself for all she cared. The tall man's lips were soft and his arms solid and warm around her; and there was something _intoxicating_ in the way he pulled her closer and closer still, as if he feared she'd vanish. She could smell whiskey on his breath, tobacco, the scent of mud and woods, and something like a wet dog…

Lucy knew exactly where this was going – of course, she knew. After all, she wasn't a little girl anymore. This was just _another_ man, and all men wanted the same thing… only, some were more articulate about it than others.

And who would she hurt, really…? Dung wouldn't be back for another hour at the very least, and Arcturus was far better company than Bulbous Nose and his pals. And he had been _nice_ to her. Considering that she was about to snatch that wand and Obliviate the hell out of him, it seemed only fair to offer some means of compensation… it's not like that they would ever meet again…

* * *

Before she was thrown roughly onto the bed, Lucy glimpsed a spacious room (bigger than expected), and the Harghita's billowing ranges, draped in silvery moonlight outside the window. It was a nice view, but Arcturus soon blocked it out as he proceeded to removethat revolting dress of hers and threw it to the back of the room (well out of reach), while his other hand moved to previously restricted territories.

"More equality please," Lucy murmured as she grabbed at his cloak. Arcturus slumped his shoulders, so she could pull it off, and the coat fell promptly on the floor beside the bed. Lucy caught a glimpse of the wand again. It was barely out of reach… if she could just…

"Is that all the equality you require, princess?" Arcturus murmured. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck.

"You wish," she said, and unbuttoned his shirt. When she threw it on the floor, the rush of her motion _accidentally_ tossed the coat closer to the bedside… but _then,_ Arcturus took the rest of his clothes off, then hers, too, and within a span of moments, it became all too clear that she would not be able to reach _anything_ out of that bed for a relatively long time.

She considered throwing him off herself, gathering her things, and running. The tall man wouldn't have _forced_ her to stay; that was something she could instinctively feel from the way he touched her. But _then,_ she should be _very_ quick to retrieve that wand, and it might be necessary to fight him for it. Lucy had no idea what he was capable of…

… _and he'd been nice to her._ All things considered, he _did_ deserve to have his way. There was that – and there was also the quite disturbing fact that _she enjoyed the hell out of this_.

 _Does that make me a whore, for real?_ Lucy mused, her chest pressed to his, her hands on his buttocks, his tongue in her mouth. She could not tell… what she _could_ tell, on the other hand, was that she had to stop brooding upon decisions already made. This was one of Ronan's teachings as well; and Lucy wondered what he would think about her newest interpretation of Centaur lore…

Later, as she was lying still, bathing in the most glorious afterglow she'd had in _years,_ the rushing clouds revealed the stars outside. The moon was gone.

It was _time._

Lucy rolled over, searching for Arcturus's coat – and it was there, it was _real,_ and her fingers held it with silent triumph.

"Don't leave, princess," he murmured. "I'm not done with you just yet."

"I saw a thing," said Lucy innocently.

"Well, I can see a _thing_ now, too," Arcturus drawled, "and I rather like it."

His fingers were warm as they ghosted up her thighs. Lucy laughed, and let herself be pulled back in bed, into his arms. She turned the wand around between her fingers in a pretence of puzzlement.

"What the hell is this? It's so pretty."

Arcturus smiled. "Well, what do you think it is?"

"Way too pretty to be a chopstick, isn't it?" Lucy squinted at him. "Or a knitting-pin. Or a drumstick. So I guess I'll have to _stick_ to my naughtier ideas."

"Bloody hell!" Arcturus laughed. "There's no way you're even real. You're a fairy queen. Or a Veela, or something…" He held the sides of her face. "You don't even know what a Veela is, do you…? Anyway, I guess you're just a _magnificent_ wet dream, and I'm going nuts."

Lucy took a deep breath and tightened her grip on his wand.

"You know, Arcturus," she said softly, "you're bloody amazing. And I wish – I wish we've met at another time. In another place." She looked him in the eye. "…And I want you to know that I absolutely _loathe_ to do this. Honestly."

"To do what?" He tensed.

" _This."_

Lucy made a brusque motion with the wand. There was a loud bang and a flash of red light, and Arcturus fell back in bed, stupefied.

Not Obliviated. _Stupefied_.

"You're absolutely fucking _insane,"_ Lucy muttered to herself. She gathered her willpower to do the incantation but lowered Arcturus's wand almost immediately.

She wanted him to remember her.

After a moment's hesitation, Lucy pulled the covers on Arcturus's motionless figure, dressed, and slid his wand into the right sleeve of her dress. Then, she sneaked out of the inn without looking back, and faded into the shadows in the streets.

The night felt somewhat colder than before.

 _(to be continued)_


	7. Measure for Measure

_Merry Christmas to everyone and thank you for the new favs and follows!_

 _Reviews are always appreciated._

* * *

 **Chapter 7 – Measure for Measure**

It was past four in the morning by the time Lucy reached the hilltop. She had run all the way through the village, and she was panting from the exercise – her hair was ruffled, her forehead sweaty and her entire body throbbing with exhaustion, but at least she was back in her old jeans now…

 _Jeans_ were the top of Muggle technology, really. They fit people like a second skin.

And _exercise_ was good: it calmed her and cleared her head… not that she would have dared to attempt Apparating instead. She had never been good at it. At the Hogwarts training sessions, she'd lost her arms and legs so many times that the instructor had accused her of trying to relocate herself limb by limb to the appointed destination.

When she'd failed the exam for the third time, Lucy paid a Slytherin prefect thirty Galleons to Polyjuice herself into her and get her that thrice-damned qualification, so Bill would finally _shut up_ about the importance of mastering NEWT-level transportation charms. Through the following years, Lucy had somewhat boosted her skills Apparition-wise, but there was _absolutely no way_ she'd have a go at such a complex form of magic while she did not fully master the wand in her pocket…

She kept glancing back above her shoulder, but no one seemed to follow her. Arcturus would not, for sure – her Stupefying Curse was trained on _dragons_.

The hilltop was covered in a disarray of eglantine bushes and rifted rocks that poked out of the dark, sour-smelling earth like broken teeth – she passed them every day, and they always made her think of mountain trolls. The hunting lodge they rented was something like a luxurious troll-cave itself, half-embedded in the mountain-side, with its windows toward the west...

Lucy entered the house, but no one answered her "Hullo". Dung still wasn't back… was he still trying to reach Moody? Was he away to get help? _Or,_ Lucy thought with some scorn, _was he playing poker again?_

She decided that if he would not appear within the hour, she'd just _go_ and rescue Remus herself. Not that she had any idea how to do that. Not that she had an idea about _anything_ anymore.

Lucy wobbled into the kitchen and prepared herself a cup of chocolate; then, she rummaged the cupboard to find a dusty bottle of Firewhiskey and poured an inch into her drink. It was better than the Old Scotch, and Lucy wondered if Arcturus would prefer it, too.

She sat huddled up on a kitchen chair for long minutes, turning the tall man's wand between her fingers. She counted thirteen inches of smooth, dark wood _(mahogany? walnut? rosewood? ebony?)_ and a gleaming silver handle, wrapped in a thin layer of leather in the middle, but still cold to the touch. The wand was twisty above the handle, like a cluster of meandrine, rippling tendrils knitted into one solid, straight branch. It was a solemn, elegant thing, as well as mysterious and complicated.

 _Look at it,_ Ronan would have said. _Listen. It will talk to you._

But wands were known to be much more talkative with Ronan than with her, even if _he_ had never had a wand in his entire life. It was unfair, really… as much as it was useless to sit here, and wait, and stare at this chunk of wood like an idiot. It was not about to open some yet-hidden mouth, and tell her who Arcturus was, what spells he'd done with it, and to what extent he will hate her when he wakes up…

 _CRACK!_

The noise was so sudden and so loud that Lucy almost shot a curse right at the intruder. But then she saw that it was Mundungus, freshly Apparated.

"Fucking _finally!"_ She sighed. "I was about to go alone, you know."

"I tried to hurry…" The wizard was panting. "But… well, something's weird. I wanted to get on the Floo Network in 'Ciuc… took me two bloody hours just to find a working hearth… and I couldn't talk to Moody. He's unreachable. I tried your Goblin boss, too, but nothin'… then I tried your friend Charlie Weasley, but he's out on some training… heck, I even tried _Snape…_ "

"And?"

"Still nothin'. His room's bloody empty… I guess we should tell the old man."

" _No,"_ said Lucy immediately. "That basically means we've failed."

"And… we sort of did?"

"Not yet. Listen." Lucy crossed her arms. "You any good at Transfiguration?"

"Not in particular… no."

"All right, then it's gotta be me," Lucy sighed. Without offering any further explanation, she pointed Arcturus's wand at the nearest chair – there was a soft _poof_ and it turned into a three-legged cat. The fourth leg, however, remained that of a chair.

"OK…" Lucy sighed. "So are you better than _this,_ or not?"

"I…" Mundungus shook his head. "Wait, didn't they take your wand?"

"They did." Another flick, another _poof,_ and the cat turned back into a chair.

"Then how…?"

 _Poof._ The chair turned into a horse with no tail.

"I snatched one."

 _CRACK._ The horse turned into a two-headed cow.

"From _whom?"_

"Never you mind." _CRACK._ "Shit, this is getting worse."

"What do we need to Transfigure, anyway?" Mundungus looked lost.

"You."

" _Me?"_

"So Remus won't bite you," Lucy snapped. "Merlin, you're _really_ thick sometimes!"

"But what about you?"

 _See, that's a very good question,_ Lucy thought; but all she said was, "Don't worry. If _I_ become a werewolf, I'll know who to visit at night."

Mundungus swallowed. "Can't this wait another day?"

"I'm not leaving Remus in that castle for _a minute_ more than I must. He's been _captured._ They might kill him… or torture him… or release him into the village to eat people. He's entirely at Sanguini's mercy. Ever been _at someone's_ _mercy,_ Dung?"

"Yeah…" Said Mundungus. "No one bothered to come after me, though."

"That's because you're a wanker."

"I guess."

They both watched the flames springing up from Lucy's chocolate mug for a while.

"…want a sip?"

"Uh… yeah, thanks." Mundungus lifted the drink, tasted it, then closed his eyes in contentment. "So, what's the plan?"

"Well, I've been thinking about it, and… basically there's no plan to make. We can't get in there unnoticed. All of this is bloody _impossible."_

"That's what I was tellin' myself…" Mundungus's voice was hesitant. "But… uh, you know, I did a bit of thinkin' and had a cuppa', and I guess I have an idea. So… We have this Sanguini bloke… a vampire… and if there's something vampires really hate, it's _fire_."

"Fire?" Lucy raised her brows.

"Yeah," Dung nodded. "He's sitting around in that castle, waiting for us to sneak back into it like some thieves… Would be a shame if something were to… burn his crib down, or something. You know, like, a dragon."

"You mean, _Mizzet?_ We can't do that… people would get _killed_ …"

"Well, okay," said Mundungus, livelier than Lucy had ever seen him, "then we won't _actually_ burn it down, but, you know, we'll just give him a little fright."

"So you expect me to sneak Mizzet out of the reserve, fly him above approximately eight Muggle villages, then burn a big-ass castle down to ashes…? Dung, that's…" Lucy counted on her fingers. "…that's _sevenfold_ violation of the International Statute of Secrecy. I'd go to _Azkaban_ for that."

"Okay… point taken." Dung sighed. "But then what?"

"I don't know… guess we'll just have to figure it out on the way." Lucy's voice was thoughtful. "I wish Dumbledore would have let Fawkes come with us," she confessed. "Everything is easier with a phoenix."

"Well, they're _easier_ to handle than dragons."

"You would be surprised," Lucy grinned. She made another, tentative flick with Arcturus's wand, and frowned as the nearest chair turned into a legless bird.

" _Are you sure that you want to try that on me?"_

"Who knows… maybe I'll miss the brains next time. No one would notice."

"Hah-hah," said Mundungus drily, but the corners of his mouth turned slightly upwards.

"So!" Lucy clapped her hands. "Here's what we'll do… first, I'll have a bath, and some sleep. I'm starting to get shaky. Then, I'll go down to the village and get iodine when the pharmacy opens."

"Io- _what?"_

"Some Muggle wound-decontaminating stuff. For Remus, assuming he'll be in one piece when we find him. Pretty weak, but I might not have the time to heal him properly… and I'm no master healer anyway… His leg's broken, by the way. Okay, so I'll meet you here when the sun goes down, and we're off. And Dung?"

"Hmm?"

"If you're late… or playing poker… or fucking around with your cauldrons again by the time I get back here, I'll feed you to Mizzet."

* * *

When the man who called himself Arcturus Stiltskin opened his eyes, he was not immediately sure if he _had,_ in fact, opened them – it was dark, and the shutters were closed. His head was pounding, his arms and legs felt shaky, and his stomach had risen, too. Yet, his body was bathing in another sensation as well – a delicious ache he had not felt in, what was it now…? Thirteen years…?

Well he'd had a pleasant dream, to be sure, with the _active_ participation of a blonde woman. He'd always had a thing for blondes – especially pretty ones, and Merlin, if this one hadn't been _pretty…_ (And witty. And absolutely _wicked_ ). If only she was real, Arcturus would have instantly fallen in love with her… anyway, that's what he'd _tell_ her. Falling in love had never really been his thing.

He shook his head. This was not the moment to swoon over a dream… he had to find _Moony_ …

Arcturus climbed out of bed, made a brief notice of the fact that he was stark naked, then shrugged and proceeded to dress. His coat, he left lying next to the bed – he would not need it today – then he summoned his wand with a snap of his fingers.

Only, his wand refused to come to him.

Arcturus frowned. Granted, his wandless skills were not as sparkling as they used to be, but he should have been able to cast a single bloody _Invito_ within the confines of his room. And the wand Dumbledore had lent him was always happy to oblige. It was practically _his_ now.

Clearly, he was very tired.

Arcturus snapped his fingers again, more articulately this time. _Still nothing._ Then, he murmured _Invito_ into the darkness of the room, to no avail.

And then, suddenly, the image of the blonde woman flashed back to his mind, faint and wobbly, as if only in a dream –

"… _I want you to know that I absolutely loathe to do this –"_

It felt like being stabbed. Arcturus rushed back to the bed and shook his coat vigorously – several things tumbled out of its pockets, but his wand was not among them.

"Merlin's bloody…"

He turned over the entire room – he skimmed through the drawers and the cupboards, the shelves and the laundry basket, the bedsheets, the table, and the chairs, even the rubbish bin and the pillowcases. His wand was nowhere.

"Fucking hell," Arcturus declared, and he punched the wall so hard it left bloody sores on his fist.

"… _shit,"_ he added passionately, like a finale to a symphony, and proceeded to suck the worst of the blood out of his wounds. They tasted like iron, and defeat.

"That insufferable _bitch,"_ Arcturus murmured. Of course she couldn't have been _that_ smitten with him. What was he thinking…? She just needed his wand all the way long – for whatever reason, he didn't know. Probably nothing good.

Cunning as she was, though, she had thoroughly underestimated him. He would not take proper revenge, of course – no time for that – but he _did_ need his wand back. It would be such a shame to let her go without a _tiny_ bit of a fright, at least…

* * *

Later that day, while Lucy was walking back from the pharmacy, she found a giant, shaggy black dog in a ditch on the roadside. It was so huge and terrifying that at first, she was convinced that she saw the Grim again; upon closer inspection, though, the creature looked positively _miserable._ It seemed to have an injured paw, and its fur was thick with dried mud and the dust of the road. When Lucy tried to approach it, it recoiled – as if expecting a kick – and let out a soft whine.

It was the same thing, really – handling a young unicorn, feeding an unmannered Puffskein, or rescuing this dog. Routine took over, and Lucy knelt down in the mud, turned her palms upwards, and waited. She did not even blink once.

Finally, the dog's curiosity seemed to overcome its fear, and it approached her with caution. It sniffed through her boots, her blouse, her jeans, her hair and her rose perfume (in that instant, the nose retreated, and its owner sneezed, which Lucy found strangely endearing). Afterwards, it allowed her to scratch its ear, and its tail took on a hesitant wagging. When Lucy stood and turned back toward the woods, it followed like a looming shadow.

"I'll give you something to eat and rub all that grime out of your coat," Lucy said softly as they climbed the uphill path. "But you shouldn't stay with me. I'm not a good person."

For once, she did not keep the shadow of pain out of her voice. This was just a dog… she could be honest with it, without facing any consequences. It did not look well-fed or taken care of – life had probably not been any kinder to it than it had been to her. Nevertheless, it seemed strong, and very much _alive_ as it observed her with its clever dark eyes.

"…on a second thought," said Lucy as she shut the gate of the hunting lodge behind them, "I've got half the mind to actually keep you. You're so big and scruffy and terrifying… Griphook would be absolutely _livid_ if I brought you to the office with me… might be worth the trouble for that alone. Gringotts, huh? How'd you like that? You could eat smartass Goblins for dinner."

She grinned to herself and climbed the stone path that led up through the garden. The dog followed her; then halted in front of the door, aghast, as if it was some previously unseen obstacle of divine dimensions.

"Come on in," said Lucy, and she waved the door open with her new wand. "It's cooler inside… you'll like it. I'd even give you a cup of chocolate if it wouldn't mess your stomach up." She bit her lip. "Makes me think of Remus, really. Drinks five chocolates per day, and not a pound heavier… It's just _awfully_ unfair, you know. Anyway, if you have more sense than a garden gnome, you'll be _especially_ nice to him. He'll feed the fuck outta you."

The dog's tail ceased its wagging, and it stared bizarrely at her – it almost looked _shocked,_ in fact. Lucy guessed it was because it had heard the word _fuck_ before, accompanied by quite _unpleasant_ things. This wasn't the first time she'd managed to trigger an abused animal with swearwords…

She closed the kitchen door behind them with a sigh. "I won't hurt you, don't worry. I'm just upset. I wish that bloodsucker hadn't snatched my wand… that I could have helped Remus… I hope they won't torture him, or something. And Dung is a _fucking mess._ I need to get everything done, _alone_ , and I'm _frightened,_ see? Remus is the great bloody wizard, not me, and _of course_ he's the one who gets caught! That Sanguini guy gives me the chills. This wasn't in my job description, you know. _None of this was!_ I've signed as a bank clerk, not a vampire hunter, _for fuck's sake!"_

She slammed a knife vigorously into the last scrap of bacon and turned around to get some eggs. The dog kept staring at her with unblinking eyes, and for a fleeting moment, Lucy had the impression that it _understood what she said._

She shrugged it off.

"So, this is it," she said, gesturing around in the kitchen – a round, cozy room that adjoined the entrance without a door. "That's where you'll sleep," she pointed at the large open space next to the tile stove.

The dog glanced at her once again, then wagged its tail – Lucy took it as a sign of approval. She waved Arcturus's wand and the hotplate sprang to life in front of her.

"We're making scrambled eggs," she told the dog. "By the looks of you, you've never had anything like it… but trust me, it's _good._ Also, it's the peak of my kitchen talent, so you'd better get used to it… Hey! No nose-bumping!"

For the fraction of a second, Lucy was convinced that it was the bacon that piqued the dog's interest, and she was ready to wave the inquiring nose away… but it did not aim for the kitchen counter, rather her hip-pocket; and the next moment, she felt something long and smooth slip out of her reach…

" _No!"_ She shrieked. "Give it back, that's _not_ a stick!"

She had _absolutely_ no hope trying to catch that enormous black monster… even if it did not try to run just yet – it merely wrenched itself free from her grip and cowered upon the doormat.

" _Give it back,"_ Lucy said slowly, articulately, and she extended her palm. "I really-really need it, okay?"

The dog was looking at her with the same unwavering interest as before.

"Come on, _please!"_ Lucy sighed, and she knocked on the ground – quite fruitlessly, since it was a sign to call Unicorns. "Why won't you just come and _eat_ like normal doggies do? Take that thing away from me and I'll be in _very_ big shit."

The dog was still looking at her; then suddenly, it bared its teeth – not in a menacing way, more like one who is downright _grinning_ –, and ran away in a black blur. Lucy followed without a second thought – if the wand was lost, _everything_ was lost.

* * *

The first ten minutes passed in a lung-tearing, unforgiving blur. Damn, that shaggy black thing was running _fast_ on its four sturdy legs…

The two human legs on the pursuit, however, were trained to run with _Centaurs._ Catching up with a dog was not that much of a challenge to them, once they had found a steady rhythm; especially as the dog's paws left visible traces in the mud they could follow.

If one wanted to fly fast without being followed, it was preferable to avoid muddy areas, though. And while it did not truly surprise Lucy that the dog _wanted_ to be followed, she did not know what to make of the fact that the trail seemed to be deliberately _seeking_ the depths of the mud, dirt and grime. Soon enough, she had a layer of dark, clammy mire blanketing her jeans to the knee, and she felt tiny rocks filtering into her trainers, along with cold waves of humidity that continued to lap at her soles. If only she'd had sense enough to put her dragonhide boots on…

Her legs carried her to the edge of an immense, brown-black wallow. It was almost as large as a pool – nature had seemingly taken an effort to accumulate as much rainwater as the ground could take, then make the earth drink the best of it, until only the dirt and grime remained. It was remarkable, really – it reminded her of the slop she'd found Ronan in, a lifetime ago, or so it seemed. This was only an overgrown puddle, though – _that one_ had been a deadly moor.

Lucy put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. "All right, you big hairy omen of death," she declared in a ringing tone. "This was fun, but I need my stick back. Now."

She waited a few seconds, then sighed.

"I know how to follow a trail, okay? I'm know you're here… You're neither smart, nor smooth enough to make me loose it. So here's what we'll do – I'll count to three…"

She never had the time to count to three, though. There was a rush of motion at the edge of her vision, and next thing she knew, she was falling forward, face down, right into that revolting _immensity_ of a wallow. The only thing she could do was roll over, protecting her face with her wrists; and she felt the warm pressure of the dog over her, as it grabbed her leg with its teeth, and dragged her on, deeper and deeper into that horrible, smelly dirt, until she was full of it – her hair, her eyes, her mouth, even her _smallclothes,_ for Merlin's sake… The only thing she could do, though, was to wait until it was over; those teeth had the potential to break her hands, or even her ribs, and that was something she could not risk.

The dip in the mud continued for several minutes; then finally, the dragging-and-pushing-and-pulling ceased, and the dog let go of her. It waited patiently at the edge of the wallow, tail wagging happily – and the wand was in its mouth.

"Congratulations," said Lucy dryly. "You officially have the shittiest sense of humour in the whole fucking universe. Now, please," she said, extending her hand, "can I _finally_ get that back?"

The dog cowered.

" _Sweetheart,_ I can't play catch with you if you don't give it back," said Lucy dangerously. "I need that. And I will continue needing it even if you drag me through the entire fucking English Canal. So come on…" She clicked her tongue. "Fetch."

When nothing happened, Lucy stood slowly, cautiously, and squeezed the worst of the liquid mud out of her hair.

"Dora says it's good for the skin," she said soothingly. "I should thank you, really. My jeans, though… I'll be tempted to pelt you for that." She continued in that velvety voice, sneaking closer and closer to the dog. "They're from Brasil. Well, okay, they're actually from China like everything else, but I _bought them_ in Brasil." Even closer. "I was there with my ex, you know. Well… s'pose he's my ex now." Very close. "He's a funny guy… not like you… _actually_ funny… but terribly _backward_ for one who wears a giant misshaped fang as an earring, if you ask me." She slid a hand up the dog's neck and scratched it behind the ear. "Maybe, if I was a better person… ah, fuck, _forget it."_ She was scratching the dog with both hands now, feeling the tension melt away under the grimy black fur. "Now… where were we… oh yes, the _stick._ "

It felt as though she'd cut a cord or shut a door close. The dog's neck tensed beneath her fingers and yanked free of her grip, and the wand slid out of her fingers again. She'd almost got it… _almost_ …

The second race was shorter than the first, and wilder, too – Lucy did not bother saving her strength this time, and she rushed as fast as her legs could carry her: reckless and free, the way Bane had always told her _not to._ Her thundering run carried her around a boulder, behind which she thought she'd seen the dog's tail vanish, waving like a flag of defiance. She would get it this time – it cannot escape. Grinning, she ran… and ran…

" _Not so fast, princess!"_

The tall man caught her by the waist at the brink of the cleft. Lucy felt the contortion of muscles as he lifted her and placed her gingerly back to the safe zone behind the blackthorn bushes, where the mud was a bit scarcer. He was panting slightly, as if he'd ran, too, and he smelled like whiskey… and tobacco… and something like a wet dog…

" _Arcturus!"_ Lucy shrieked.

"The very man," he said, eyeing her up and down quite shamelessly. "I preferred the dress," he said, somewhat incidentally, "but I can appreciate the artistic touch. Brings out your eyes."

"I suppose you're here for your wand," Lucy said, as neutrally as she could. _Just what the hell he was doing here?!_

"I'm more romantic than that, princess. First, we go for a nice walk in the reeking mud, and then, _maybe…"_

" _I don't have time for that!"_ Lucy snapped. She was _afraid_ – so afraid that it almost made her angry. "Listen… strangle me … or throw me down that pit… or do whatever you want… but _get on with it,_ because my friend's been captured and I've got to rescue him…"

Arcturus tilted his head. "Very interesting paradox. Let's presume that I want to strangle you _and_ throw you down that pit. How _exactly_ do you intend to rescue your friend, then?"

Lucy looked straight into those wonderful grey eyes – she thought she'd never see them again –, and said, calmly and simply, trying to ignore the fact that she must have looked ridiculous with mud stuck in her garments and plastered all over her face,

"I don't have your wand. I _did,_ and I'm sorry, but it was taken from me."

"Ah, my wand…" Arcturus shrugged. "Forget it. It's not that I need it anyway."

He snapped his fingers, and Lucy felt the dirt and humidity ooze out of her clothes. Suddenly, she felt warm, and clean, and _hell, even her rosy perfume was back_ …

"Wait a minute…" She said. "Wait a _fucking_ minute. You do _wandless magic_."

"Alastor Moody, lecture one," Arcturus chanted, and he crossed his hands behind his back like a schoolboy. _"Your wand might be taken from you, young man, and in that case, you don't want to blink like a green toad on its first day out of the moor. That is why you need to be alert, and tough"_ he clicked his tongue, "and _constantly vigilant_."

" _Alastor Moody,"_ Lucy parroted.

"It doesn't help that much," Arcturus said emphatically. "When they first took my wand, I felt lost, too. Like someone chopped my arm off and fed it to the dogs. I understand your feelings, princess."

"Leave my _feelings_ out of this," Lucy hissed.

"Oh, so you actually _have_ those! Nice to know."

" _That was fucking rude!"_

"What a word!" The tall man clapped his hands. "On a scale from _one_ to _Stupefying someone after sex_ , how rude do you _think_ it was?"

"Okay…" Lucy took a deep breath. "Okay, so let's make something very clear. I don't… _usually…_ Stupefy people after sex."

He had the audacity to grin. "Am I a first?"

" _I never Stupefy people after sex!"_ Lucy snapped. "It's just that… that there was absolutely nothing else I could do, and…"

"Someone with the intellectual capacity of a teapot might have Obliviated me," Arcturus offered. "Making me believe I was a druglord in Mexico, and I had an urgent errand to run at home… or _something_! You strike me as someone rather _creative._ "

Lucy turned her head slowly, inch by inch, and let the promise of brutal murder materialise as an expression on her face. Arcturus watched her without a blink, and suddenly, the hugest stupid grin broke out on his face – it changed his entire countenance, and Lucy suddenly had the faintest impression of looking at a young man, thirty at most…

"We'll be great friends, you'll see," said Arcturus. "Of course," he added, with a hint of seriousness in his voice, "we've got to rescue Remus first. Poor thing, he's now gone an entire day without chocolate."

"We – what?!" Lucy stared at him, the weirdest suspicion rising in her mind. "Wait… you…"

"…besides," continued Arcturus elegantly, "you could have just _asked_ for it, you know. Not that the method wasn't delightful, of course… anyway, you may still need this."

He pulled the silver-handled wand out of his pocket and slid it into her belt. Then, he got a sudden grip at her arm, and Lucy found herself sucked in by the nauseating vacuum of Apparating.

 _(to be continued)_

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _The town Mundungus got to is called 'Miercurea Ciuc' in Romanian, and 'Csíkszereda' in Hungarian. In fact, Markus the innkeeper and his brother Jan are Székely (Transylvanian) Hungarians, too._


	8. He Is Back

_**A/N:** Christmas brought inspiration, and ideas (and a little time I stole from my exam preparations), so I'm able to give you another chapter. We're now halfway through. Stay tuned for the rest – and thank you so much for the reviews!_

 _Warning: Lucy's mouth could still use a thorough washing. So does the others', this time. Nothing terrible, though._

* * *

 **Chapter 8 – He Is Back**

 _Arcturus Stiltskin,_ Lucy tasted the name as she strode after the tall man through the garden of the lodge. _Friend to Dumbledore and member of the Order of the Phoenix._

Just what the _hell_ was the Order of the Phoenix…? And _how in Merlin's name_ would this man be friends with Albus Dumbledore? He was telling the truth, though – Ronan had taught her to see when she was lied to, and Arcturus's eyes had been sincere. And not only that; he had a feather from Fawkes in his pocket…

Lucy tried to keep her breathing in check. Arcturus was climbing _fast_ , and her head was still turning funnily. Merlin, how she hated Apparition… anyway, _how did he even know where their headquarters was?_ Was it Dumbledore who told him? Had he been _spying_ on them…?

"Wait!" Lucy caught the hem of the tall man's shirt. "Wait a minute! I can't just let you _walk_ in there!"

Arcturus turned back. _"Well?"_

"Your wand," said Lucy sharply.

"You seem rather focused on my _wand_ lately, princess."

"You know my name now." Lucy crossed her arms. "How did you get your wand back?"

" _Back?"_

"From the dog."

"Ah," Arcturus smiled faintly. "We're friends."

Lucy stared into his eyes for several seconds, but there was no lie. "Hmm," she said suspiciously. "Then tell me… are you the guy who sent Remus macarons for Christmas?"

He blinked. "Yeah."

"All right," Lucy said slowly. "Then you can't be _that_ bad of a person."

"That was the most original personality test I've ever been put through."

"Yeah," Lucy jumped over a stone. "They're usually not very… well, there's the You-Know-Who one. I mean, the one when you can betray the whereabouts of one guy to the Nasty Dark Wizard of Your Choice to save another five, and you get to choose. There are these questions and situations when you could say anything… literally _anything_ … and you wouldn't come off as the good guy, because what matters is not what you say but what you _do._ Blink twice, or thrice… cross your legs at the wrong moment… _think too loudly…_ and whack, you're done. Your interrogator knows everything about you."

Arcturus glanced at her. "So what does my buying macarons tell you about _me?"_

"You know Remus relatively well," Lucy pursed her lips. "You probably went to Hogwarts together. Also, you must be exceptionally fond of egg-flip."

" _How the heck did you guess that?!"_

"Egg-flip macarons at Honeydukes are a constant hit," said Lucy, suppressing her smile, "and there wasn't even one in the box. Remus told me I could choose as much as _three_ flavours, and I checked. They're my favourite…"

"Mine too…" Arcturus admitted. "Okay, you won. I ate them. I just – I'm _terrible,_ but I just couldn't resist."

They halted in front of the door for a second; then Lucy waved it open with the tall man's wand. Arcturus kicked his boots off, then strode into the kitchen as if he owned the place and stretched himself comfortably in the chair that was usually Remus's.

"So," he said, yawning, "are those scrambled eggs still an option?"

He realised his slip of tongue with an infinitesimal delay; but it was enough for Lucy. She stopped short in the kitchen door and stared at the tall man as if she'd just seen him for the first time ever.

"You atrocious… barmy… wretched… son of a…"

"That hit a solid eight on the _rude_ scale," said Arcturus innocently.

" _You dragged me through that reeking fuckery of a wallow!"_

"You deserved it. And I could have done a lot worse if I actually _wanted_ to hurt you. So be happy."

Lucy bit her lip, her heart suddenly beating a lot faster. That was true. He _could_ have done worse. He could still do worse if she angered him. He did magic with a snap of his fingers, damn it…

"…and I won't hurt you _now,_ either," said the tall man, and he raised his hands in a gesture of appeasement.

"But you're an Animagus," said Lucy. "And you can transform _without your wand."_

"You get used to it."

"I don't think I could get used to turning into that enormous black _thing,"_ said Lucy, and she looked away to hide her puzzlement. She could not help but remember what Bane had told her about the guardians – the Dog and the Wolf…

"Remus named it Padfoot," said Arcturus, reluctantly, as if someone was forcing him to speak. "You know, like the hellhounds."

Lucy snorted.

"What?"

"Nothing… it's just… all of this is just _bloody rich."_ Lucy turned around, warping her face into a blank mask once again. "The _one time_ I decide to be a nice person and not Obliviate the _fuck_ out of someone who stands in my way, they happen to be a Dumbledore-level master mage who could, I don't know, turn me into a toad and send me off to the Bahamas within a blink _…_ and who can morph into a _dog_ and find my trails in less than a _day_ and… and _who the fuck are you, anyway?!_ An Auror, or something?"

"An ex-Auror would be closer to the cut," said Arcturus solemnly. "Otherwise… yeah. There comes the uncomfortable part. See, I'm a famous man. Or… the word might rather be _notorious."_

"What kind of notorious?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," said Lucy, squinting, "are you the _fucked half of Great Britain and crushed into the Ministry of Magic with a Muggle limousine while totally pissed_ kind of notorious? Or… the _liquidated thirty Death Eaters with one shot in his heyday_ kind of notorious? Or, maybe, the _murdered an entire village and is chased by authorities in thirty countries_ kind of notorious…?"

"…all of them at once, I s'pose," said Arcturus.

"Typical friend of Dumbledore's." Lucy shut her eyes for a moment, then shook her head, and sent a saucepan above the hotplate with a wave of Arcturus's wand. "…scrambled eggs for two, then. Are you really the whiskey type, or were you just trying to show off all the coin you don't have?"

Arcturus's lip twitched suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because I have the mind to drink Dung out of his weird Hungarian stuff." Lucy rolled her eyes. "Dude was _playing poker_ while Remus and I fussed around Sanguini's lot in that bloody castle, then got framed, assaulted, Disarmed and _almost killed_ … Just imagine that… I run away to get help, I come back to the village, I finally find Dung, and he's like, _hey, guess what, I've had three fulls in a row…_ "

Arcturus snorted.

" _You think that's funny?!"_

"It's all right," said the tall man solemnly. "We'll get Remus out of there."

He spoke with such visible ease and certainty that Lucy almost instantly believed it herself – there was, however, another question that resurfaced in her mind. It had been her very first thought when she learned that Arcturus had a connection with Dumbledore, but she had decided to save it for later – for _now._

"Something's wrong, right?"

The tall man looked at her sharply.

"Dumbledore wouldn't have sent you after us if everything was on the right track. There's a fuckup, huh?"

"Actually," said Arcturus measuredly, "a _fuckup_ is a pretty good word for it."

Lucy eyed him. "Okay, so on a scale from _one_ to _Stupefying someone after sex_ , how outrageous that fuckup is?"

His eyes were cold and unforgiving. "Like a Killing Curse while you're having the small death."

"Wow…" said Lucy.

That was decidedly the most poetic way to say _fucking terrible_ that she'd ever witnessed.

She was glancing into those wonderful eyes again – piercing grey with a silvery hue, icy-yet-warm, distant-yet-keen. It seemed very tempting to try and slide into the tall man's thoughts – but he would have surely noticed… if there even _was_ anything to see. If he was truly an ex-Auror, he could probably Occlude as easily as he breathed.

"I'd happily have you stare at me lovingly for _weeks,_ princess," said Arcturus gently, "but I think that your scrambled eggs are, well, _scrambling."_

"I was wondering if you could lift your royal arse and take care of it," Lucy bit back. Her face was a mask again.

"If you insist," he said with a flourish, "I'll give you the view."

"What's with all the self-confidence around people who have better ass than you?" She had wanted to say it scornfully, but she happened to be laughing. Not faking it, not mimicking it, not exaggerating it – actually _laughing_.

"Self-confidence is everything," said the tall man, and he snapped his fingers – this time, they conjured an entire set of shining dishes and cutleries onto the table, lighted three candles in a holder and filled the carved chairs with soft silk pillows.

"Fucking showoff," Lucy muttered, and she Summoned the Firewhiskey and Dung's drinks, as well as the remainder of the chocolate, just in case. At least she managed to do that nonverbally. With a single spell. A rare feat.

"I sill have the dog's ears, princess!" Arcturus chanted. "And probably the nose, too," he added, his face settling in contentment. "Smells like heaven."

"Yeah… about the dog incident, and all," said Lucy as they sat down to eat. "May I, uh, ask you a favour?"

"Fire away, babe."

" _Two_ favours," Lucy snapped. "One: could you please use my _name?"_

"I'll think about it. What's the other one?"

She took a deep breath. "Well… Remus and Dung will _obviously_ ask how we met."

His lip twitched. "Yes?"

"…and I would really appreciate if we could say something… _less interesting_ than what actually happened."

Arcturus put down his fork and stared at her in mock outrage. "Are you implying that we should _lie?!"_

" _Why, that is exactly what I'm implying!"_ Lucy bit her tongue. "Sorry… sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you like that. And I know that I'm in no position to ask for favours. It's just… Remus and Dung… especially Remus… they're my friends. I haven't had _friends_ in a while. And I don't want them to think that I… that I am… _that_ kind of a woman."

"You mean, the kind of woman who would use her beauty and wit to save her friends?" Arcturus tilted his head. "Doesn't sound that bad to me."

" _What?"_

"You seem to be under the impression that you've hurt me, somehow," he grinned. "You didn't even hurt my pride… that much. Anyway, I'll lie, if that makes you feel better. Lest your friends think you care about them too much."

Lucy's eyes widened, and she Occluded so suddenly and so hard that he recoiled in his chair.

"Don't. Ever. Do. That. Again." She whispered. _"Ever."_

He didn't apologise. He didn't deny it. He didn't get angry. He simply asked,

"Why?"

"There's a reason why people's brains are _inside_ their skull, and not plastered all over their faces," said Lucy smoothly. "Now – do you smoke?"

There was a short pause. "…yes, please."

"Brown or green?"

"Oh, _Merlin's stinky balls,"_ Arcturus breathed. "You must be an angel from heaven."

That was a precise enough colour indication for Lucy. "Well, if you ignore the horns."

* * *

They watched the sunset in an oddly comfortable silence. The shadows were deepening in the mountainside; they crawled up the rails of the porch like scrobbling fingers, then immaterialised in the darkness of the room behind them. Lucy watched them claw at her thighs – they reminded her of Sanguini's magic, and Remus, and she had to look away.

Arcturus sat diagonally to her, up the balustrade, stretching his long legs against the void below them. He took visible pleasure in smoking, sipping the last of the Firewhiskey, and emptying the bag of chips he found in the back of a cupboard. He had previously consumed six scrambled eggs, two cups of hot chocolate and an entire sachet of Jelly Slugs. Lucy wondered where all that food went.

As soon as the Sun dove under the horizon, there was a loud _crack,_ and a black-clad figure appeared at the gate.

"Punctual," Lucy muttered. "Well, that's a first."

Arcturus slipped off the balustrade and stood. He was trying to appear nonchalant, but Lucy saw that he was tense, entirely _tense,_ to a point she had not previously thought possible. Before she could start wondering about that fact, however, Mundungus walked up the garden path and entered the house.

"Up here," Lucy called. "We have a guest."

"And do we have a _plan,_ too?" Mundungus lamented. His voice was getting louder as he climbed the stairs. "I continued to call Moody and the others, but not a fookin' chance… something stinks here, y'know… something definitely stinks…"

"Must be you, Fletcher," said Arcturus amiably.

Mundungus stopped short at the door, and stared at him – and suddenly, all the colour seemed to drain out of his face.

"Bloody… fuck," he said.

"Yeah…" Arcturus nodded his agreement. "Bloody fuck."

"Holy… shit…" Mundungus blinked, shook his head, then blinked again. Then, he rolled up the sleeve of his robe, and pinched his arm so hard it left a mark.

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Dung?"

"I pinched meself," the wizard stammered. "I pinched. And he's still there. Right there. Bloody. Hell. How on… fookin'… _Earth_ …"

"So are you having a fan-seizure or will you finally try and hex me?" Arcturus sighed exasperatedly.

Whatever he expected, it was probably not a hug. Mundungus, however, threw himself across the room and clasped him in a bone-clattering embrace, so sudden and so forceful that the tall man slammed the back of his head into the wall.

"Bloody hell, mate!" Said Mundungus, his voice strangely aloof. He let him go, quite awkwardly, and Arcturus continued to stare at him. "I – ugh… Remus told me every… everythin' about you, an' that fookin rat… and… I never thought… I never believed that you did any of those… horrible…"

"Yeah, yeah, save it," said Arcturus, his eyes suddenly dark and dangerous. "No one did, _obviously._ "

"No – you don' understand… I bet a thousand bloody Galleons that you didn't do a thing!" Mundungus gifted him with his best crooked grin. "Officially. There's a paper, n' all. D'you figure? _I'm a rich man."_

" _You bet…"_

"Course I did," Mundungus crossed his arms. "It was a real _disaster._ But I'm gonna get it back now an' have _a thousand fookin' Galleons._ I'll buy you – you name it..."

"You bloody wanker," said Arcturus fondly. "I missed you so much."

"Yeah, yeah, you tell me."

The two men stared at each other with a strange mixture of wonder, amusement, and pain.

"…guys?"

Lucy tilted her head, trying not to laugh at the astounded expression they both gave her.

"Guys? Would you mind giving me a little context…?"

"Later," said Arcturus, finding his voice. "It's getting dark… and we have to go and rescue Remus before he turns into a big bloody wolf and Sanguini chases him down to the village. _That_ would be one hell of a mess." He glanced up from his lap, face suddenly troubled and grave. "But first… there is something I must tell you. _Several things,_ to be exact."

"The fuckup," said Lucy immediately.

"Yeah. The fuckup." Arcturus took a deep breath. "Tell me, when was the last time you've contacted Alastor Moody?"

"I tried this mornin'," said Mundungus. "Then again in the afternoon. Nothin'."

"And when was the last time you actually _could?"_

"Christmas," said Lucy. "He just… sort of strode into here, and gave us a clue to contact Eldred Worple – a friend of Sanguini's who could help us…"

"And you did?"

"After months of sniffing around, he finally set up a meeting for us in the castle. We went with Remus yesterday… but we were framed."

"Did you tell Moody anything about what you were doing… what you were looking for… what you've found out…?"

"He seemed to know everything already," said Lucy. "He also thought that Dung was a traitor. He Stunned him in the backyard when he came here."

"Knocked me head into a bloody stone, that lunatic!" Mundungus nodded.

"Lucy," called Arcturus softly. She almost jumped – that was the first time he spoke her name. "Have you told Moody anything about your job… the Goblins… your connection with Dumbledore… Or did he try to read your mind, or Remus's…?"

"Not really – no," Lucy shrugged. "He seemed to know everything about that as well. He told me he knew my Dad."

"Of course he did," Arcturus gritted his teeth, "that bloody piece of …" He shut his mouth tight. "Okay. So… that person wasn't Alastor Moody."

"What?" Lucy and Mundungus said in unison.

"Yeah. That was an impostor, named Barty Crouch Jr, believed dead for more than a decade… and a Death Eater."

Slowly, jerkily, Lucy raised her head.

"A Death Eater…? But Death Eaters are in jail… or hiding… or high Ministry positions, swearing that they never even met You-Know-Who…"

"Yeah… I'll get there," Arcturus sighed. "Anyway, Alastor Moody has been framed, and assaulted, and held prisoner. Crouch took his place as a DADA teacher at Hogwarts… and he meddled into the Triwizard Tournament. It is a long story, and I'm sure Dumbledore will tell you everything once we're safely back in England… anyway, the point. Crouch was a spy. Voldemort's spy. And… he is back. Voldemort is back."

They stood in utter, complete silence and stillness for several seconds. Then, Mundungus inhaled loudly.

" _Don't say the fookin' name!"_

"Things should be called what they are called," countered Arcturus solemnly.

"You mean…" Lucy said cautiously, "You-Know-Who… he's… like… physically _back?_ With his followers and all…? Rosier… and Dolohov… and the Lestranges…"

"Rosier is dead, and the rest rots in jail now," said Arcturus, calm as a frozen lake. "It's only a matter of time, though. And yes. He's _physically_ back. And he tried to murder Harry… Potter."

The last name seemed artificially tacked after the first, and Lucy did not miss the flare of anger in Arcturus's bright grey eyes. This man obviously cared about Harry Potter – and there was much, _much_ more to the whole story that he did not bother to tell…

"So, he tried to," Lucy pressed. "But he finally didn't…?"

"The boy got away and told Dumbledore everything. That's how we know… Voldemort wanted to keep his doings secret, so he could invade the Ministry from inside, with his spies, the way he used to."

"But that won' happen, right?" Mundungus cleared his throat. "Dumbledore got the news in time… the Ministry's been warned… measures taken… Crouch thrown to jail… and _don't say the name!"_

"Crouch got the Dementor's Kiss before Fudge could have even questioned him," said Arcturus flatly. "There was no evidence, other than Harry Potter's word, to prove that Voldemort had returned. And… well, see it for yourselves."

With that, he slid a copy of the Daily Prophet out from under his cloak and handed it to them above the coffee table. Lucy reached out and caught it. The first thing she checked was the date – three days ago, the eighth of July. Then, she noticed the portrait of Dumbledore, in his favourite horrible star-sprayed cap and billowing velvet cloak, smiling benignly at her from the front page. The newspaper was black-and-white, but Lucy knew that the cloak was purple, and the cap violet.

The headline read,

 _ **THE GREAT WIZENGAMOT CLEANUP – DUMBLEDORE'S STAR ON THE WANE?**_

 _THE CASE OF Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot has been recently put under investigation by the Bureau of Magical Rectorate Distribution. An avowed genius of our age, Dumbledore has greatly contributed to the security and the well-being of Wizarding Society through the past decades, his deeds having earned him an Order of Merlin (FC) among other honours. It seems, however, that not even Dumbledore can escape the hardships of advancing age. Rita Skeeter investigates._ [p.5].

Lucy ripped the Prophet open on page five and skimmed through the article. Mundungus was reading above her shoulder, too, accompanied by his constant grumping and sniffing, which annoyed Lucy a lot more than it normally would.

"What a bunch-a nonsense," the wizard huffed. "What does that all mean? Surely, they won't depose Dumbledore just now… with the danger out there, and all…"

"Dung, can you even _read?"_ Lucy's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "That's the point of the whole thing – Fudge doesn't believe Dumbledore! He and his publicists are trying to discredit him! What you can see here is a stinking…" She ripped the newspaper into two. "…effing…" She ripped it into four. "…wretched…" Eight. "…piece of…" Sixteen. "…BULLSHIT!"

"There was a crossword in that," said Arcturus resentfully.

"Then you will stick it together with your own sweet little hands," Lucy bit back. "Damn. I'm so _freaking pissed_."

"But…" Mundungus scratched his head. "What will happen now? Is the Order back together, and all…?"

"Yes," said Arcturus, "but more undercover than before."

"The Order…?" Lucy's eyes narrowed.

"The Order of the Phoenix. I told you I was a member of it… it's something like Dumbledore's own little circle of Death Eaters. There are, however, some small differences. For example, we don't murder people. And we don't have masks, either, although that would be _wicked."_

"You haven't changed a bit, have you?" Mundungus grinned.

"Not much…" Arcturus rolled up his sleeves. "Maybe a bit better looking, I don't know. Now, come on, to the rescue… or else poor Remus will die out of chocolate withdrawal."

 _(to be continued)_

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes**_

 _I think it's plausible that Lucy wouldn't recognize Sirius (1) due to the fact that she doesn't really read newspapers and (2) that he looks a lot better than he did in Azkaban… or at least, a little. : )_

 _In my little universe, Mundungus and Sirius are old friends, as you might have figured._


	9. Swindlery For Beginners

**Chapter 9 – Swindlery For Beginners**

It was not that Lucy was even remotely _surprised_ to see Arcturus Stiltskin lead a magnificent grey horse out of the stable behind the guesthouse and Transfigure it back into a Hippogriff – _no._ It was the fact that said Hippogriff proved to be the very same beast that the Magical Supervisory Board had sentenced to death in 1994 that finally rang the bells of alarm in her.

At first, it was no more than a gut feeling – a subtle sensation of anomaly at the back of her mind, like the one you get when unexpected occurrences collude. It did not, however, fade with time as such sensations so often do; it continued to gnaw on her while Buckbeak descended into the valley across Sanguini's castle, only to land upon a stony cliff Arcturus had appointed as their "base". He had chosen it because the cliff continued in a large grotto, almost entirely invisible from outside; and they would have to wait there for the better part of the evening, as flying had reduced the normally one-hour long trip into mere minutes.

Lucy was still thinking about Buckbeak's trial as she jumped off the Hippogriff's back after Dung and Arcturus himself, and stretched her legs against a nearby rock. She could recall Hagrid's defeated expression as he had departed to the Ministry with his terrible orange tie; and she could recall Dumbledore as well, who had come to see her as she was kneeling in the mud behind the gamekeeper's hut, and spread his arms, saying that there was absolutely _nothing_ he could do.

 _Did he lie…? Did he conspire with this man to save Buckbeak's life…? But if he did, why did he lie to Hagrid as well? Why wouldn't he tell him that his favourite pet had not, in truth, broken free, but it had been rescued…?_

Hagrid had been so fond of Buck. He would always caress his beak and pick the bits of dead mice from between his claws. Why would Dumbledore leave him in the dark about this…?

Lucy pursed her lips, barely even noticing the picturesque view of violet clouds drifting through orange skies below her feet. She was faced with a riddle here…

She thought of Dumbledore again: benign smile, sparkling blue eyes, moon-shaped spectacles. Always calm, always collected, elegant yet genial, witty and more than a little sarcastic… and always _calculating._ Yes; Albus Dumbledore was constantly _planning_ things – some innocent, some grandiose, some underhanded, and some downright petty…

 _Yes – if Dumbledore truly wanted to have Buckbeak rescued, he needed to be secretive about it. He could not risk his authority and credibility the way he now does to spread the news about You-Know-Who's return… Sooner or later, Hagrid would've dropped a brick, and then…_

 _But why this guy, Arcturus?_

That was the true question. Lucy did not remember to have ever seen the tall man at Hogwarts grounds. That alone would not have been suspicious; Dumbledore had the weirdest sorts of friends, very few of whom were ever seen together with him. Maybe Arcturus was of the secretive sort; maybe he lived in some far exotic country, and just _happened_ to be in England that time, all too conveniently for Dumbledore. After all, 1994 had been a year of strange occurrences, with her, Lucy and Bill having to unite their forces once again; with Remus coming into the picture; with Sirius Black threatening the country; with her seeing the Grim…

 _Wait a minute…_

The realization,that _today_ may not have been the first time she'd seen Arcturus in his Animagus form, hit her like a bolt of lightning. She had already encountered that enormous black dog somewhere… _near Hogsmeade_ … she mistook it for the Grim, and so she had run off to the Centaurs to ask for their guidance. Maybe they knew about the whole thing and had a good laugh behind her back – this would not have been the first time…

… _and Arcturus may have needed the disguise because he was wanted; that would explain why Dung had insisted he knew that he had not done "all those horrible things." Yes… that would explain a lot._

Still, something was not all right about the whole story. Something was missing…

The sun had now gone down entirely, and the shadows were deepening in the forest. Soon, it would be time to go.

Lucy stifled a laugh as she imagined Fudge's face if he saw her now – trying to rob a vampire with the help of a petty thief and, quite possibly, an escaped convict… The Minister had a habit to fuss over inconvenient happenings, after all. The other time, too, he went _absolutely over the top_ when Sirius Black had been caught in the middle of Hogwarts grounds; then, mere minutes after having been sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss he disappeared from the Astronomy tower… _right from the tower,_ without a wand, without a goddamn _trace_ …

 _That_ was one of the times when Lucy had felt genuinely sorry for the man. It must have been terribly frustrating to catch the criminal you've been chasing for an entire year, only to have them disappear instantly… Lucy had thought a lot about how Black could have done it, but she had absolutely no clue. Like, the man would have needed to _fly away,_ or something…

 _Wait a fucking minute…_

Lucy took a sidelong look at Buckbeak, who was feasting avidly on an anthill. But no, no, that was _impossible…_

 _Think,_ she scolded herself. _Even if he could pull this off… why would Sirius Black, of all people, be after you and Remus? Besides, if this bloke was truly him, he'd have murdered you after approximately five seconds instead of shagging you senseless... Black is totally nuts – not to mention that he's a Death Eater, and as such, he'd have never told you about You-Know-Who's return, either. It would be his best interest to keep it secret._

 _But if he knows that we work for Dumbledore,_ Lucy argued with herself, _then he should also know that we'll get the news as soon as we set foot in England. Black would presume Dumbledore wanted to send us help, especially after what happened to Moody_ …

Lucy's frown deepened as she tapped her chin with two fingers. Now that she thought of it, there was no proof, other than the word of Arcturus Stiltskin himself, to imply that Alastor Moody _had,_ in fact, been an impostor. There was no proof that Moody knew about the true intentions of Eldred Worple, and there was no proof, either, that Dung could not reach him due to his incapacitation, and not because he was simply too busy.

 _And on a scale from one to ten, how FUCKING likely is it that someone could capture Mad-Eye Moody, the best Auror of all time, and take his role for MONTHS, right after Dumbledore's nose? Dumbledore's?!_

Lucy suddenly felt like a complete idiot. The chance of such a thing happening was approximately _zero_. And if anyone, then Remus would have surely noticed that Moody was not his usual self – as she understood, they were old friends. Not to mention, well, _Dumbledore_.

 _Moreover,_ she thought, _why would it be so FRIGGIN' important to have us immediately back in England…? If You-Know-Who really IS back, all the Order of the Phoenix can do is wait and prepare. And in that preparation, a super-secret key to some super-secret goblin vaults could come quite handy, couldn't it…? So why the fucking hurry…?_

On top of it all, it was convenient, _way too convenient_ that Arcturus Stiltskin came to her rescue at the lounge… that he had offered his help… _and she had the audacity to think she could outsmart him…!_ No: it had been _his_ doing all the way long… Arcturus Stiltskin had controlled her from the first fucking second to the last – and now he was about to bring her back to that bloody castle.

Only, he was not Arcturus Stiltskin, Lucy realised with a pang of fear, but Sirius Black in disguise. A murderer, a fugitive – and a Death Eater.

 _And I am a fucking idiot, walking into his fucking trap_.

Her heart was thundering so fast she feared it would burst. There was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ she could do… Dung would probably not even believe her if she told him about her suspicions, all convinced that this was Arcturus, his old friend… Besides, Dung was not _nearly_ as good at Occlumency as she was – he would not be able to hide his thoughts from Black. The man would _know._ And then… _then,_ if they were lucky, he would probably kill them quickly. Or else, he'd say nothing, and they'd have to follow him to that sodding castle… another, quite painful form of death…

" _Fuck,"_ Lucy whispered, with passion. She knew a quagmire when she saw one – no matter which way she went, she was about to sink. The wisest thing to do would have probably been to grab Dung's arm and Disapparate on the spot… but Arcturus – no, _Black_ would probably find them even then; and Remus would remain a prisoner, and God knows what Sanguini would do to him…

 _And Merlin's stinky pants, I've shagged Sirius Black…_

Lucy reached out to touch the tall man's wand beneath her cloak. At least, she had that now – not that Black needed it, anyway. She had never seen anyone, other than him and Dumbledore, do wandless magic. And who knows how many other unspeakable things he could be capable of...? If Fudge was to be believed, the man was worse than Bellatrix Lestrange.

Her father had told Lucy about him once, long ago – Sirius Black had been an Auror, and an excellent one, before he turned on the Ministry and his friends, and became a Death Eater… and he had the _nerve_ to speak about Moody's lectures… he had the _fucking_ nerve to play the chivalrous knight in front of her…

Lucy shuddered, and suddenly, a very articulate feeling flared up in her chest, dissipating the numbness of fear – _anger._ Sirius Black was probably about to murder her, just as Bellatrix Lestrange had murdered her mother. And he was about to get away with it, just like Lestrange had… it was not the murder of Lauren Dawlish, after all, that had gotten her into jail, but the attack on the Longbottoms…

Lucy leaned against the cool surface of the cliff, and she made a show of stretching her legs again. She fought the urge to scream, pass out or throw up… or to do _anything_ that could give away the horror squeezing her stomach.

Yet somewhere, beneath the seizures of panic, she was also shaking with rage.

 _Breathe,_ Ronan would have said. _Slow your blood. Don't let it paint your thoughts red_.

Occlumency was a wonderful art – not only did it hide her thoughts from nosy people, but it barred them even from herself whenever she had enough of them. Lucy counted twenty heartbeats until the redeeming sensation of blankness settled in her brain – _unusually long_ –, then she took a few calming breaths.

Occlumency aside, there was one stern feeling that remained on the surface of her inner Pensieve: the stern, quiet desire for _revenge_. She could not stream her long-suppressed rage and frustration upon Bellatrix Lestrange herself, but maybe she could take it all out on this man instead...

Wind rose in the west, and it breezed through her hair. It was messy and wet, and it still smelled thoroughly of whiskey… and mud… _and something like a wet dog_ …

"We need to go."

Arcturus – no, _Black_ was standing above her. The wind had been in his hair, too, and Lucy felt the strangest urge to smooth out his tresses. It helped her decide against such things, however, to recall his true face from the poster Fudge had hung in his office.

 _A vampire, I'd say… but even Sanguini had been fitter._

(The eyes were the same unearthly grey, though – like whirls of mist in a snowstorm… Or was it just the light filtering through? Fudge never closed his curtains properly…)

"You okay, princess?"

He was very close, and his fingers were tracing circles on her cheek.

" _Spectacular,"_ said Lucy. Suddenly, all she could think of was the way she'd left him behind in the inn – sweaty and naked, his hair just as much of a mess as it was now; and she knew he had the same thing on his mind. His eyes betrayed him. For a second, Arcturus – no, _Black_ glanced at her like Remus had on the dancefloor; and Lucy _saw it coming,_ she really did, because all men wanted the same thing, and some were more articulate about it than others…

Next thing she knew, his lips were crashing down upon hers, hot and rough; and by the time she could process the ambiguity of her body enjoying this _way too much_ and her mind finding the concept of kissing _Sirius fucking Black_ utterly repulsive, the entire ordeal was over. The tall man grinned at her, somewhat triumphantly, and he said _"we'll talk";_ and by the time Lucy's brain constructed a set of caustic responses, Arcturus – no, _Black_ had already helped Dung upon the Hippogriff's back.

Lucy bit the insides of her mouth, lest she'd start screaming inarticulately. For a psychopathic mass murderer, he really _was_ a great kisser.

Evidently, as the smallest passenger, she had to sit closest to Buckbeak's neck, with the tall man pressed tightly against her back. _Now isn't that fucking wonderful,_ she thought, as Arc – no, _BLACK_ slid an arm around her waist, and whistled softly, so Buckbeak would kick off. _Enjoy yourself while you can, fuckhead. Three enters that castle, and three comes out; and you will not be among them_.

* * *

Yesterday, the castle had loomed above Lucy like a sleeping giant. Now, it seemed more like a cowering dragon as the Hippogriff's swinging flight brought them closer to the walls in continuously narrowing circles.

In the tumult of high walls and corridors, there was a single window, ablaze with light – that was the dragon's eye, and the two demi-bastions its horns. It was not hard to imagine the rest – the skeletons of ruined watchtowers to the South were roughly organized into the pattern of a long, wriggling tail, and the stony ramp ribboned down the hillside like a lolling tongue. From this distance, Lucy could even appreciate the view.

Buckbeak circled the castle a few more times, gliding closer and closer. Once, he flew so close that Lucy could have reached out to touch the tiles on the roof. If there were any protective enchantments conjured by Worple, Black's Disillusionment Charm proved to be stronger…

Above the balustrade on top of the castle wall, the pair of them jumped. Black caught her, although it was entirely unnecessary – the gesture was genuinely elegant nonetheless, and Lucy did not lean away from it. Mundungus remained on the Hippogriff's back, as agreed, and as a slight ripple in the darkening landscape indicated, he turned Buckbeak's head to the south, to wait out their arrival in the nearby forest.

Lucy counted ten agitated heartbeats, but nothing happened. No alarm… no shooting curses… no suits of armour clattering along the corridors to seize her…

"How long do you think you would last in a duel?" The tall man suddenly asked. Lucy could hardly see him because of the Disillusionment Charm, but she could easily picture the look on his face – slightly puzzled, slightly snarky.

"You mean, face to face?" She pursed her lips. "Against who?"

"Against, I don't know… for example, me," said Black tentatively.

"Umm… approximately zero point five seconds."

"Okay," he said. "Then we'd better go in the open."

He snapped his fingers, and the next moment, they were visible again – and Lucy had to morph her features _quickly_ into an expression of indifference. Black, however, did not attack her as she thought he would; he merely adjusted his cloak and glanced around the empty passageway.

"I can't protect my princess if I can't see her," he said easily, as if such explanations were completely unnecessary.

" _I – am – not – your – princess!"_ Lucy hissed. "I have a _name!_ "

"All right, all right!" Black held up his hands in a gesture of appeasement. "I thought you liked to be called one."

 _I did,_ Lucy thought, _but that was before I found out you were a fucking Death Eater_.

Sounds of music and laughter were filtering through the coarse walls, and she now knew where they were coming from. It felt as if nothing had happened since yesterday – the party went on, the Bloody Berries and other nonsensical treats were probably still served in abundance, and everyone – save perhaps Worple, and Sanguini himself – remained blessedly oblivious of the fact that Remus Lupin was being kept prisoner, and quite possibly tortured down some cold, dark dungeon… or the contrary: on top of the highest tower, for all Lucy knew…

"All right," said Black. "So, where are Sanguini's private quarters? It's not very likely that he'd keep prisoners there, but we could at least narrow things down a bit… and you need that key."

Lucy stared at him blankly. She was still expecting an attack, which was decidedly _not coming._ Why was he playing innocent? What was the bloody trick…?

"Come on," said the tall man. "Which way?"

"I don't really…" Lucy bit her lip. "It all happened so fast…" _Why was she suddenly feeling like an imbecile?_ "Wait a sec…"

She waved Black's wand with quiet concentration, and watched as some soft, silvery substance oozed out of it, only to materialize into a shimmering trail in front of them. It was faint, but visible; and even more importantly, it was _unbroken_.

 _I'm not that much of an idiot, after all,_ Lucy thought with a pang of triumph.

"What's that?" Black inquired. "I haven't seen anything like it before."

" _That_ is a dirty bastard of self-inflicted Legilimency and an Orientation Charm," said Lucy. "It will show us the way, which I technically can't remember, but it's _in_ _there."_ She knocked lightly on her head.

The tall man stared at her; a little bit guarded, a little bit suspicious, and _definitely_ wide-eyed.

"Well… that's kind of genius."

"It's just a charm," Lucy shrugged. "All fifth-year Hogwarts students would be capable of it if they pulled their nose out of their textbooks. Now, let's go. I'd rather walk out of this castle on two legs than four."

Black nodded tightly and followed her without a word. They took the nearest staircase and continued climbing as they followed the silvery traces of memory. Lucy kept a firm hold on the tall man's wand, and watched her steps, one by one, keen and alert. To his credit, Black played his role well – he remained in her heels like a shadow, repeatedly checking the corridors behind their back, as if in fear of being followed.

They were not being followed, Lucy knew. Sanguini was waiting for them instead.

The silvery trail led them high up in the darkest (and coldest) quarters of the castle, only to lure them back downwards, where two spiralling staircases diverged. Between them was a large portcullis, half-raised, its metallic bars gleaming coldly in the filtered light. From Lucy's angle, it almost looked like a _guillotine._

"Who the _heck_ builds things like that in their home?!" Black complained. He was running out of patience, Lucy could tell… "Are we far yet, anyway?"

"No," said Lucy. "We're right here..."

"What do you mean, here? _Here_ where?"

"…I think it's terribly convenient, by the way," Lucy continued, ignoring him. "If I had a castle like this, it would sure as hell be full of indoor portcullises to cut off unnecessary things… like, I don't know – like Death Eaters in disguise?"

 _WHACK._ The metal bars descended between them like iron teeth, and suddenly all she could see of Black was a disarray of dark and silver stripes.

" _You…!"_

Merlin, he managed to sound _genuinely_ hurt.

"Swindlery for beginners, lecture one," said Lucy. "Never get too touchy."

"You've recognized me…" Said the tall man. It was not a question.

"Congrats, Sherlock."

" _When?"_

"Does it matter?"

" _You – you think I'm a mass murderer, and you still walked with me right into this fucking castle, without as much as a blink!"_ This wasn't a question, either.

"I needed you to get in," said Lucy sweetly. "As for my way out… I'll manage, thank you."

Black laughed. He was _actually_ laughing, genuine and flagrantly _innocent_.

"Got some _nerve_ , don't you?" A pale flame lighted up his eyes. "All right, princess. I haven't been entirely honest with you… but you don't know everything…"

"Not yet…" Lucy's eyes narrowed. "Next time we meet, though, you'll _finally_ be able to tell me if the Dementors use their tongue, and my life will be complete."

" _No!"_ Black snapped, sounding slightly worried for the first time since she'd met him. "Wait…"

"I'd hate to waste your time," said Lucy. "You've got a party to attend… _Confringo!_ "

It was one of those spells she genuinely _liked._ At times, it could ease the clench of a hairband. At other times, it could break the ice upon the stairs when she walked. At yet other times, it could get her the finest apple from a tree that was just out of her reach…

And at times like this, it could break the cement in the walls, and make a tower of bricks collapse between her, and whoever had been foolish enough to get on her nerves.

Then, she ran.

 _(to be continued)_

* * *

 **swindlery** : roguery, treachery, fraud. Et.: _schwindler_ [ger.] : "a cheat"

The text contains slight allusions to _'The Tale of the Grim'_ , chapters 2, 3 and 4.


	10. Lectured

**Chapter 10 – Lectured**

Sirius Black watched the downpour of bricks blankly, like a complete idiot. In truth, he was too flabbergasted to even _consider_ rage; and then, when the reality of having been ripped off finally settled in his mind, he felt more amused than vexed.

The first problem with Lucy Dawlish was that she possessed some demonic skill to continuously distract and astound him. The second (small, but possibly even more annoying) problem was that he could not bring himself to hurt her, not even a bit, not even _didactically._ And the third problem was that her last display of savvy arrogance had made him curious – _way too_ curious to see the situation unfold, to see if she would manage to break free without him…

 _Why would you care, though?_ He argued with himself as he stole down the stairs, disappearing in a dark corridor. If anyone in this castle had an ounce of sense, they would surely be here within a heartbeat to find out why half of the Western Wing has just collapsed…

 _She'd tell Fudge about you first thing tomorrow, and you can't allow that. So you find her, you get your wand, you Obliviate her. End of story._

 _What…? If you think she'd want to do anything with you, you deserve to be back in your fucking cell. That woman hates you, and if you continue daydreaming about her like an idiot, there is no way in hell you're going to get out of here._

Sirius slammed his fist into the nearest wall, closing his eyes as the clash of the impact reverberated through his bones. Pain was something calming, something relieving, something familiar. _Good._ A language he _understood,_ unlike that wobbly, slippery feeling he got around that woman; far too pretty and far too _interesting._ Lucy Dawlish had woken something in him that had been asleep for more than a decade now – only, he knew that it would no longer be so easy to get what he wanted. On the contrary, though, it was easy, _very easy_ to forget that he was not his smooth and handsome young self anymore…

"Get a fucking grip on yourself," Sirius muttered between his teeth. He had to keep moving… eyes alert… ears sharp…

He was barely aware of the moment of his transformation; Padfoot was needed so Padfoot came, as an extension of his thought. It felt like developing a third arm when the other two were full, or suddenly growing an eye to the back of his head: his senses were suddenly becoming sharper, perfectioned versions of themselves. He no longer felt the coldness of the walls beneath Padfoot's thick hide, and he could have avoided Sanguini's men with his eyes closed… and all those terrible stirrings and pains and strains and _complications_ trapped inside his skull were suddenly reduced to simple, first-hand commands. _Run. Hide. Find Remus._

 _Drag Lucy Dawlish into a puddle thrice as deep and six times as smelly as the previous one and continue to dip her until she loses her allure_ …

The dog sneezed. The air was so dusty here, probably due to confinement. That would just not do – his nose was something he needed…

His legs carried him further and further still… and at one point, he suddenly picked it up. It was there. Right there. _Remus's scent_. Faint, altered, smelling thoroughly of fear and the wolf inside, but it was _there,_ and he followed it greedily, winged by the sudden triumph of discovery. He would find him before _that woman_ does, and free him, and get everything done alone, and see how snarky she can get in the face of that one!

It was almost too classic, really – the humid, grey-green walls of the dungeon, the tepid, velvety darkness, thick and soft like a cloud… well, on second thought, it was decidedly _too_ _classic_. Somehow, someplace, there had to be a trap – they wouldn't know, though, unless they walked right into it. In truth, the dog (and the human within) was outright _curious_ what the bloodsucker had in store for them.

Remus's scent was even stronger down here, and the dog heard the hiss of his breath as he realised someone was approaching. Moony was very close now, perhaps minutes away; his sharp senses lurked a shade behind the human ones, occasionally gaining terrain as stimuli surfaced. Sirius had always been fascinated by the last few hours before the transformation – the blurring of the barrier between man and wolf. _How do you feel, Moony?_ He would ask at times; countless times _. – Wobbly. – Okay, but WHAT do you feel? – My fingers itching. But that is probably just a primary reaction to your face_.

 _Well, that is probably the proper primary reaction to have at the sight of my face these days,_ Sirius mused as he turned back to his two-footed self again. He snapped his fingers lightly, and they stroke fire; a pale blue flame that flickered and danced on his palm like a phantom from the underworld.

Remus was half-sitting half-lying in the back of his cell. There was a puddle of something dark and sticky around him, and Sirius hoped for Sanguini's sake that it wasn't his own blood – because if it was, then he would have to grab that bloodsucker and wring his neck with his bare hands, and _that_ was not a very poetic way to die.

"Oi, Moony," he called softly. "I hate to disturb your beauty sleep, but we're off."

The man's eyes snapped open – unfocused at first, but quickly becoming wide and alert.

" _You?"_

"Oh no, don't pinch yourself, I'm really _that_ gorgeous…" Sirius laughed darkly. "Been waitin' for someone else, haven't we? Sadly, your lady friend is quite preoccupied with me now. She thinks I'm a mass murderer, or something." Sirius settled comfortably in front of the cell and crossed his legs. "Why is it that you always get the cream of things, hmm? I go on Order duty, I get Moody's rap about endangering the existence of my ass if I keep my wand in my pocket. _You_ go on Order duty, though… you get a hot chick, a nice wooden cottage and a convenient alcoholic sidekick. I really hate you, you know."

"I…" Remus shook his head. "How did you find me?"

Sirius tapped the side of his nose. "You stink."

The faintest smile rushed through Remus's face. "I'm glad you're here, Siri."

He winced. That name… no one had spoken that name in thirteen years now. It was terribly unsettling. Why were people so intent on embarrassing him these days? And why was Remus looking at him like he was supposed to answer, or something…?

"Lucy told me you had a bad leg," he said instead.

"I fixed it."

" _How?"_

"I managed to keep my wand," said Remus. "And Lucy's, too. I can even cast spells in here… it's just that I can't break out. Not for lack of trying, as you may imagine. Sanguini's charms are strong, and I don't get their functioning. Nothing works… maybe Apparition would, but the entire property is jinxed against it."

"Hmm..." Sirius frowned, letting the cogwheels of his brain set in motion. "What did you try? Break it? Blast it?"

"Both."

"How about melting it?"

"Doesn't work, either. The curses don't even seem to reach the bars. I've never seen anything like this… it's almost like Sanguini's mocking me. _Look, you useless piece of shite – you can't do a thing against me!_ There must be a trap somewhere… I just don't know the rules, and it's very hard to play like that."

"Try and give me a wand."

"You think it would work?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "No clue. But if we continue to mope around in our respective corners, it certainly won't. Where's milady's wand?"

Remus pulled it out from under his cloak. "Watch out," he said. "Bit stubborn. Almost Blasted me instead of the lock."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Sirius muttered.

They both expected some magical barrier or alarm, but the wand slid neatly between the bars, and Sirius's fingers clutched it with relief. His next sensation was that of unease, though; holding the wand felt just as wobbly and unsettling as holding its owner.

 _All right,_ he thought. This was not the moment to show off – he simply pointed the wand on the locket, and spoke the command:

" _Alohomora!"_

Nothing.

" _Relaxo!"_

Nothing.

" _Diffindo! Confringo! Expulso! "Ferrum disserito! Reducio! Ignis! God-damn-it!"_

"Told you," said Remus. "Listen… I'm stuck here for good. Go look for Lucy… I'll vouch for the fact that you're the nice sort of mass murderer… and get her out of the castle. Quickly. I'll… manage." He grabbed hold of his own knees, pulling them up to his stomach and hugging them tight, as if that was the only thing holding him together. "Moony is just a few moments away and I think I might throw up in any second. You really need to go."

"Not gonna happen."

"Siri…"

"No – _shut up!"_ He growled. There was it again. That name. Why couldn't it stay in the past where it belonged? "You're being thick as a troll. If I leave you now, you'll never break free. But _Moony_ might." Sirius stood up, his nose almost touching the cold iron. "Moony is hungry, and he will try to get me. Then we'll see whose magic is stronger…"

"That's a very… _very bad_ idea," said Remus weakly. There was a soft tremor running down his spine, and through his limbs. Soon, he would start to shake uncontrollably, Sirius knew – and then, he might throw up for real before Moony would kick in.

"Yeah, terrible. I don't have anything else, though." Sirius eyed him across the bars. "And no. Don't waste your breath. I'm not leaving without you."

"Now who's thick?" Remus's lip twitched; then another wave of tremor ran through him, and his eyes darkened. "Sirius," he whispered. "When I… when _Moony_ breaks outta here… _if he does_ … you'll follow, right?"

"Why do you think I'm wasting my breath here?"

"Okay… great." Remus's voice was hoarse. "It's just… Sirius… _you must not let me bite her_ … Got it? You must not let me lay as much as a finger on her or I'll kill myself. Okay?"

"Save your drama, my furry friend – milady's ivory skin shall remain intact," Sirius said with a flourish.

"No, but really. Siri… if you have, like, a choice… between me lacerating someone limb by limb or, like, I don't know, bumping her elbow… you'll prefer the first possibility, right? Promise me…"

"Alright, got it. When's the wedding?"

"She's my _friend,"_ Remus retorted. "Well… for the time being," he added softly, when he thought Sirius was no longer listening.

Sirius was _always_ listening, though; and his eyes narrowed at that statement. It was probably the rarity of the situation – he had very seldom seen Remus getting girlfriends, let alone _friends with benefits._ It just came with his condition. Surely, though, if any woman could handle a werewolf, it was Lucy Dawlish…

Imagining her with Remus woke another long-forgotten thing in him; some wicked, greedy-fanged beast that roared to life in his belly while Remus's shrieks were melding into Moony's throaty howl in the background, and filled his entire being with flame and heat…

Sirius turned slowly back to face the wolf, and as their eyes met, he understood what that fealing was –

 _Jealousy._

The word had long lost its meaning to him, yet now, it suddenly resurfaced from his cerebral set of abstract concepts – he knew from past experience that such a thing existed, and he also remembered how "jealousy" was supposed to make him feel. Now, though, that the strange hot-and-cold sensation itself filled him from head to toes, he did not know how to handle it. It was similar with anger, though, and he definitely remembered how to be angry. _Oh, he did_. So maybe, just maybe, jealousy was meant to be released in the same way as anger…

But that did not matter now.

"Hey, Moony –" He grinned at the wolf. "Wanna play catch?"

The wolf growled, eyes narrow and menacing.

"C'mon, you can do better than that." Sirius thrusted himself upon the cell door, his forehead touching the iron. "Get me, furball!"

He did not move an inch as the wolf crashed into the bars with the full might of its force. Sanguini's magic didn't stop it, the joints rattled, and the cell door moved a little bit forth, then back.

"Come on, Moony," Sirius urged him, waiting for the vampire (or worse) to walk on them in any moment. No one did, though, which was awfully suspicious, but he had other things to worry about for the time being. For example, that darn door. If a hungry werewolf couldn't break through it, then who could…? They were running out of time…

"Moony – hey, Moony!" Sirius grinned at the wolf through the bars. "Y'know what? _I shagged your girlfriend!"_

The wolf snarled at him, baring all its razor teeth. It couldn't possibly understand what he said, but maybe the message itself went through… the monster roaring within, and his sheer triumph…

"Oh yeah, I did! And guess what – SHE LIKED IT! AND I'LL DO IT AGAIN IF YOU REMAIN IN THAT FUCKING CELL – OR, YOU KNOW, REGARDLESS, HAH!"

The wolf slammed into the bars with a previously unseen force; the hinges screamed in pain and the very earth reverberated with the force of the impact.

"YEAH!" Sirius screamed. "I DON'T GIVE A – GOT A PROBLEM WITH ME, EH? THEN FIGHT ME, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"

Through the span of the next few moments, many things happened at once. First, there was some rattling, unearthly noise; then there was dust – dust everywhere, and Sirius was falling back down to the unseen depths of the dungeon's darkness. Then instinct kicked in, and when the wolf harked after him, it only found Padfoot lying in the dirt. That didn't stop him from painfully scrunching his backbone, though.

 _It worked,_ the dog realised as the dust settled down and the wolf sneaked up the slippery stairs. _We're off._

 _Up next: find that woman and give her a bit of a fright._

* * *

It had been somewhat _too_ easy. All of it.

Black had not even put of a fight; he'd merely continued to stare at her wide-eyed and strangely _offended_ as the bricks fell; and no one seemed to follow her as she ran, either. The only sound around was the constant booming of the bass down the ballroom, where the party still went on. Was she dreaming, or had The Hobgoblins truly made a punk rock cover of that Celestina Warbeck hit…?

 _Bet Remus wouldn't like that one, either,_ Lucy thought as she sneaked down the main staircase. From the air, she had observed that the castle court joined a large, open space behind the building's left wing, framed by an orchard and an ancient-looking fountain that chattered happily. Behind the gardens, there was a small passageway leading to the nethermost regions of the castle. If she could break through that door…

Lucy took a deep breath, put a new Disillusionment Charm upon herself, and walked swiftly down the courtyard, careful not to bump into any of Sanguini's guests. The full moon was now high up in the skies, casting silver stripes upon the walls; and Lucy knew that she would no longer find Remus anywhere, even if she were to look.

 _Only the wolf_.

She had to try nevertheless – she'd promised herself that she would. Even if her heart was thundering like a Weird Sisters riff… even if facing a werewolf was the worst of her fears…

She reached the gardens without an incident – preoccupied as she was, she did not fail to recognize the contrast between this setting and the ones Muggle comics usually associated with vampires and their castles. The trees were high and abundant, and they were well tended to. They also happened to be full of Bowtruckles and Pixies.

Lucy noticed that the garden itself was a giant maze; an intricate clockwork of adjoining paths that rewarded the walker with the view of the central fountain approximately every three minutes if they went the right way. In the last such round, Lucy halted, taking in as much of the view as she could. The path that led to the dungeon door was supposed to be behind that fountain, to the North-East…

"Peaceful, isn't it?"

Sanguini was strolling along the adjoining path. His cloak billowed in black torrents around his feet, though, which created the impression that he was merely gliding through the air.

"This is my favourite spot," continued the vampire without blinking. "Especially when the moon is full." His lip twitched, baring his decidedly _nonhuman_ teeth for a moment. "Now-now, don't panic. I can smell your blood. It would not be very wise to turn your back on me right now – I'm rather famished, you understand."

Lucy stared at him for a few moments, considering her options **–** then, she muttered " _Finite!"_ and became visible again. She felt like her heart could break through her ribs in any moment and explode into a rainfall of blood – but the only feeling her face betrayed was slight bewilderment.

 _Calm,_ the ghost of Ronan's voice insisted, _control._

 _Occlude._

"Why?" She asked, because she could think of nothing else.

" _Why_ what?"

"Why don't you… you know… attack me, or something?"

"You are my guest," said Sanguini, as if he was explaining the alphabet to a five-year-old. "I do not harm my guests."

"You have already harmed me. And Remus."

"It was never my intention to do so, which explains why you are still alive. Although... you have to understand that you are putting me into a very uncomfortable situation." The vampire folded his hands with astonishing delicacy. "That is not because you've attempted to steal from me; you are neither the first, nor the last… but rather because it should be very easy for me to seal your fate. It _should_ be, but it isn't."

Lucy frowned. "You can't decide if we're a threat?"

"A _threat?"_ Sanguini laughed quietly. "Oh no, certainly not. As for my personal reason, you're merely making me curious. The werewolf, too, but _you_ especially."

"Me? Why me?"

The vampire's eyes were red, very red; but other than _that_ , they were suddenly just like Albus Dumbledore's. "What do you need my key for?"

"I don't need it. I want to give it to someone else."

"And why couldn't that _someone else_ come to steal it from me instead?"

"They could if they wanted, and you would probably be in for a few surprises," said Lucy truthfully. "And…" She swallowed. "Well, you know – we're not the only ones looking for that key of yours. Someone else might come for it, and he will not ask nicely. I mean, he'll be _considerably_ less nice than us."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I-I'm not really in a position to threaten anybody," said Lucy, forcibly accelerating her tone. This was a _vampire,_ acutely aware of every little stir in her blood… yes, that would do it. If he would mistake it for fear… "This is only a little warning. He – he will promise you things and _envision_ things. He will make it all sound like your key is a small, but necessary sacrifice for all the greatness he has to offer you. But that guy… he is a liar. Notoriously. I can promise you that much. My kind – well, we are all kind of _generally terrible_ towards magical creatures. Yeah… all wizards are terrible… but some wizards are more terrible than others."

 _Pity he wouldn't catch the reference,_ she thought. There, she had done it – she had moved her hand, and she was now clutching Black's wand again. _Tight._ Now she'd only need to aim it…

"You are being honest," Sanguini observed. "That is certainly remarkable." He crossed his arms as they continued to walk in the precise direction Lucy had intended to. "I am aware of that wizard," he said then. "Some say he returned, some say he didn't… I know that he did. Otherwise, he could not have asked me to _take care_ of you and your werewolf friend."

"Did he, now?" Lucy inclined her head.

 _It is just a threat. An empty threat._ It had to be. Sanguini could not be controlled by You-Know **-** Who – this had to be some plot of Black's. On a second thought, it was not even sure that He had returned…

 _That Prophet article had been very clear, though_.

"Ah, he _did_. Not directly, of course – I spoke with a servant of his. He asked for a swift and quiet method, which is surprising enough as it is. I have considered biting you or feeding you to my pets – both might work. See, you are supposed to disappear without a trace. Yesterday, I gave the matter a little thought… the whole situation is rather unfortunate. I figured I might let you choose."

"How nice of you," said Lucy without thinking. She forcefully swallowed the bile that had suddenly rose up to her throat. There was one way, only one way out of this, as it seemed…

 _Avada Kedavra. The spell is Avada Kedavra. Wand movement: a sharp form of lightning. And you have to mean it._

No, she couldn't do it. _Shit,_ she could not… there was no way she'd have enough power to cast that spell.

 _And would it work on a vampire, of all creatures? Is a vampire even technically alive…?_

"…I thought as much. But it would be brutal… too brutal," Sanguini sighed, and shook his head slowly, like some ancient sage. "Not to mention that it would be an act of unnecessary _commitment,_ which I would under no circumstances advocate, nor perform."

" _What?"_ Lucy would have been less surprised if Sanguini had turned into a winged pink unicorn and exploded into an avalanche of Bertie's Botts. "You're not going to hurt me? Against You-Know-Who's orders?"

"I do not take orders from anyone. And why would I? Anyone who carries a Centaur's bow is a remarkable person, and I support remarkability. I do, however, intend to teach you a lesson tonight, about the nature of things."

"The nature of things?" Lucy frowned.

"I see how you look at your friend," said Sanguini, almost _warmly._ "I have lived for a long time… and I have certainly seen that look more than a few times, and I have also seen the numerous tragedies it has caused."

"What do you mean?"

"Mean? Oh, I do not _mean_ anything. But your Remus is such a good friend, is he not? He would do his best to protect you under any circumstances, correct?"

Lucy smiled despite herself. "Correct."

"Which means that he would never hurt you, am I right?"

"No – no, he wouldn't." Lucy forced the words out of her mouth. She thought she was beginning to see where this was going.

Sanguini smiled, which was, for some reason, a lot more terrifying than his previous wrath at their capture.

" _Excellent!_ Now listen carefully – all my lessons are simple, and this is probably the easiest of them all. It is a pact of sorts: a pact with two equal sides. Me, and you. Here is how it goes… I will let you both go free. Together. No questions asked, no hardships, no second thoughts – I merely ask two things of you. First: never show your face here again. See, I would find myself in a rather _bothersome_ situation if the Dark Lord were to learn of our little agreement…" Sanguini's lip twitched.

"Yeah…"

"Great! Then second…" Sanguini's eyes were distant. "Never forget what you will have learned tonight, if you are still alive when the Sun comes up."

" _If_ I am alive…? But you just said…"

"It is past time someone showed you what a werewolf truly is, sweetheart," said Sanguini in a paternal tone. "Quickly now, quickly! Shoo!"

That moment, she saw it.

The two yellow eyes outside the dungeon door, burning with menace.

 _(to be continued)_

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Sirius's POV is tricky, to say the least. Hope I did him justice, but you should know one thing (which is very true for further instalments as well): I do not intend to idealize him in any way..._

 _ **Thank you for the astonishing amount of views!** I'm incredibly happy to have readers - to be honest, I'm more than a little anxious about this story, as it is very different from what I usually do (or at least, it feels different). So if you liked it (or not!) please consider letting me know._


	11. Business Partners

**Chapter 11 – Business Partners**

It was the eyes and the teeth that she saw first – yellow and white, Sun and Moon. Suddenly, her entire universe was concentrated in those two points of reference: solid and implacable, bright and burning with colour, whereas the silver-grey hide of the wolf faded into the night, or somewhat _lifted,_ like mist on a spring morning.

Lucy stood frozen in place for several precious seconds, battling the urge to close her eyes, hold her ears and pretend that the wolf had never existed. Even Ronan's imaginary voice was silent in her head; it seemed that his teachings had nothing to offer against a friend who suddenly turned into a man-slaughtering monster to lacerate her limb by limb. Because – according to her best logic – _that_ was what the wolf was about to do; and the reality of it thrust the cold blade of dread between her ribs. She could feel the stubborn hammering of pulse in her throat, as if her heart was suddenly trying to supply that monstrous wolf instead of her petite and utterly terrified self.

The wolf snarled and cowered, preparing to leap – and in that instant, the bubble of numbness and fear burst around Lucy. Adrenaline shot through her veins like the water of life; it cleared her head, eased the tingling of her legs and somehow made her able to breathe again. All she could suddenly think of was _running;_ racing along the maze of gardens until she collapsed, dazed and terrified, fuelled by the desperate force of instinct…

…and that was where the memory of Ronan's teachings came in.

 _Don't move an inch,_ she commanded herself. She swallowed the bile again, and the urge to scream with it. _Think_.

There was absolutely no way she could outrun the wolf. Hell, she probably couldn't even outrun _human_ Remus – sickly and thin as he was, he remained a man and she a woman, and that limited the sensible range of physical rivalry between them. There was no way she would be able to hide from the wolf, either – it was drawn to her blood, quite like Sanguini. It would probably smell her from miles ahead. She still had Black's wand, however; and if she were to exhaust herself to the point of collapsing, she might not be in a state to use it at the end, when she would need it the most.

Lucy made a tentative step backwards. The wolf snarled immediately, its eyes two torches of menace in the moonlit garden. _He must have transformed minutes ago,_ Lucy realised. She saw that the wolf's legs were still shaking, and its gaze a bit unfocused. She could maybe use that to her advantage…

In that instant, a second pair of eyes emerged from the darkness of the dungeon – slightly smaller, slightly less bright but very much _alive_. It was Black, in his Animagus form.

Of course… they would annihilate her together: the werewolf and the Death Eater. Black could do magic with a snap of his fingers, and Sanguini, the clapping audience, was entirely unaffected by werewolf bites… only that Sanguini was nowhere. Maybe he really meant what he said about letting her go.

 _All right,_ Lucy urged herself, _use that daft brain of yours! If Black regains his human form, Remus will immediately attack him – so you'll have to keep them together. As soon as you're out of the no-go zone, you'll need to cut Black off of both Remus and yourself, and then... and then find Dung. You'll Stupefy Remus, or something. It's a plan_.

Lucy felt like she might throw up in any second as she faced the wolf at the dungeon door. The bright yellow eyes were now fully focused on her, and the legs pulled tense. It was going to attack at any moment – Lucy recognised the pose, as well as the deep, menacing growl.

"Come on, Remus," she said softly. "Get me, or we'll going to spend the rest of our lives in here."

The wolf broke into a thundering run, and the dog leapt forward at the same instant. The distance was rapidly waning between them…

" _Glacio!"_

Lucy almost smirked as the grassy plain before her feet turned into a flawless, clear surface of ice. She did not, however, turn back to inspect how great of an advantage did that give her; she gathered her strength and ran, breathing as steadily and stepping as lightly as she could. She would be running all night…

She threw herself into the orchard, ran almost an entire lap along the main path, then climbed a pinny apple tree. The dog and the wolf would follow her scent against logic, she knew, but Sanguini's men might be waiting for her at the gate…

 _Or they might not_.

It was safest to suppose that everybody had lied, and she was totally, irrevocably _alone_ to fight both Black and the werewolf. And while Lucy Dawlish was not a fighter, there were two things she was quite good at: Charms and collecting herself.

 _All right. So what we need here is distraction. Something that moves…_

" _Simulacra,"_ she whispered. _"Deceptionem evocate… sanguinis odore… repello totum… salvio hexia…"_

It was like a NEWT examination without the owl-headed idiots to deduct points when her illusion wavered; or her wand movements were too wide; or they did not like the hue of her lipstick, or _Merlin-knew-why_ … she liked a challenge when she saw one, and it was not without pride that she let her phantom self loose in the garden.

" _Geminio,"_ she murmured, then grinned when another pale, blood-smelling Lucy appeared next to the first one. _"Digressus_ … okay… _cantio serere!"_

She finished the incantation with an abrupt, cutting movement downward, then studied the result. The illusion wasn't perfect – far from it – but it would probably do enough to distract a werewolf. Speaking of which…

" _Muffliato,"_ she murmured, drawing a tentative circle around her hiding place among the branches. The charm would not last long – maybe if she would raise a Shield Charm and recast the other within range… but that would be an experiment for another time…

She could hear the soft hum of the earth as the wolf approached, following her scent, triumphant and raging. It was only a matter of time before it came around the last corner in the maze, and…

" _Simulacra locomotor,"_ Lucy murmured. Her two phantom-copies sprang to motion at once; they glided gracefully to the crossing of two garden paths, then parted ways. Lucy watched with delight as the wolf came to an abrupt halt in front of them,torn between the instinctive desire to follow her trail and chasing the source of the penetrating, metallic scent of blood that her illusion emitted.

"C'mon," Lucy murmured. "Try and catch them. Just try…"

The wolf snarled, and the next moment, it was leaping. Lucy pointed Black's wand, and the two phantoms flew away in opposite directions, as if launched by a rocket; the wolf gave a piteous howl and threw itself after the one that flew northwards.

She'd done it. Merlin, _she'd done it._ It worked…

"That was quite ingenious. You might have gained yourself three full minutes."

Lucy's eyes widened in fear, her thoughts reeling wildly. Impossible – he couldn't have been here all along… he couldn't have heard her…

"I saw you cast it," said Black. _"Finite."_

He was leaning casually against the next tree, turning a wand between his fingers – and a quite familiar wand at that….

"That – that's mine," Lucy said venomously, and she jumped off the tree. The last thing she wanted was to be confined in a narrow space in the presence of a Death Eater. _"And get the fuck out of my head!"_

"Your thoughts are written on your face, princess," said Black. "I must also mention that the way you're disregarding my sinister reputation is _appalling._ I mean… you haven't even shrieked at me. Not the tiniest scream, or blackout, or panic attack, or running around in circles like a poisoned rat… Come on, _not even an attempted Killing Curse_ … just where is the world going these days? What happened to giving Dark Wizards _credit?_ Oh, no… let's just blast half a building to their face and call it a day… that was pretty fucking rude, y'know. Most ingenious, I repeat, but _rude_."

"No man has ever made me scream twice the same day," said Lucy with a very straight face. He eyed her – puzzled at first, then startled, eyes alight with sudden mirth as he understoodthe unexpected jest; and in that moment, Lucy flung his own wand at him.

" _Impedimenta!"_

With a flick of his wrist, he blocked. _Her own wand was blocking her._

" _Levicorpus!"_

Another flick. _(Why wasn't he attacking back…?)_

" _Locomotor mor…"_

Flick.

" _Finestra…"_

Black made a last brief, subtle motion with _her_ wand, his lip twitching – and the next moment, Lucy's tongue was mercilessly stuck to her palate, and she was unable to move it an inch. None of her counter-charms worked, and her entire mouth started to itch terribly after as much as three seconds.

"There," said Black with a contented sigh. _"Much_ better. Although I think I have an alternative field of use for your tongue if you ever happen to change your mind…"

Lucy eyed him, rallying all the rage and malevolence she could find in herself into that one single glance.

"As you will…" Black tilted his head. "If you try anything, though, I will have to be considerably _less nice_ to you, understand? I'd hate to do that. I prefer escorting a pretty, _unhurt_ princess. Princesses who behave are allowed to keep their wands, by the way."

 _Is he really that arrogant…?_ Lucy smiled inwardly, then nodded.

" _Excellent!"_ Said Black as he hooked on her – by the arm, uncomfortably close –, and walked her swiftly and quietly through the gardens. "While we are on our way, I would like you to contemplate a riddle," he offered. "The question is… why am I doing what I am doing right now? _À_ _savoir,_ saving your skin…? Answer A: Because I am escorting you to an occult ceremony where Sanguini will sacrifice your bleeding heart to the ghost of Salazar Slytherin along with twelve other Notorious Young Ladies I've collected; or Answer B: Because I am to win you over to Voldemort's side for the purpose of publicly executing Muggles with that razor tongue of yours; or perhaps Answer C: Because I am _actually_ just an old friend of Remus's who is here to take you home...?"

 _Merlin, I hope it's not the third one,_ Lucy thought. _That would be really awkward_.

But no; this was Sirius Black – a killer and a Death Eater. She must not let him fool her. It was pathetic enough that she felt somewhat _safe_ as he dragged her through the moonlit garden, looking considerably more alert and worried than any Death Eater had the right to be. It was deplorable enough that it had not even occurred her in the past few minutes how much she hated when he called her _princess_ … anyway, the entire situation was already _wrong_ on so many levels that Lucy could not allow herself to make another mistake, however tiny.

As they neared the gate, Lucy became tense with apprehension. Something was wrong in the air, in the earth… there was some strange, menacing _presence_ … she wondered if Black felt it, too. Probably not – he was not the kind of bloke who would take life lessons from the Centaurs. And for that precise reason, Lucy needed to start taking risks; so she lowered her practically _fossilized_ mental barriers to the point of nonexistence (it felt terrible), and projected one single thought, sharp and clear like an arrow in flight:

 _Would you mind giving back my ability to speak?_

Black stopped dead in his tracks.

"How in Merlin's stinky pants did you do that?!"

 _Magic,_ Lucy thought. Sadly, she wasn't skilled enough to fill her inner voice with the same dripping sarcasm as the physical one. _Yet_.

"All right, but _how?"_

The genuine nature of his curiosity astonished her. _Why in "Merlin's stinky pants" would I bother to teach you?_

"Would it hurt to be _nice_ to me, just once in a lifetime?" Black snapped. He closed his eyes, took a calming breath, then concentrated. _All right, so what does my princess need her tongue for?_

It wasn't perfect, far from it – his lips were moving – but he was doing it. _How on Earth did he catch it in a matter of seconds?_

 _Magic,_ his voice replied in her head, savvy and triumphant.

Lucy frowned. _I need my ability to speak, as in, cast spells. Someone is following us. I don't want to die just because you can't take a bit of bickering… and I'm quite crap at fighting._

It was safe, telling him that. He had eyes, he could see. And it might be useful to let him think that she was absolute zero, really… he would be in for a few surprises…

Oh crap, she wasn't hiding her thoughts now, was she?

 _You really need to stop… Slytherin', you know, said_ Black's voice in her head. _If you amused me just a little less, you would be hanging Stunned from my shoulders already. As for the danger you speak of – it's probably Remus you're sensing. Your stinky spell must have worn off._

The next moment, something snapped in Lucy's mouth, and her tongue was back at its rightful place. The sensation was so _glorious_ that she almost missed Black's next words.

"We must wait here if we want Remus out. He'll have to follow us… that's at least a mile's run until we're outside the wards. 'Think you can do that?"

"Uh… yeah, I suppose," said Lucy. She was utterly, helplessly confused.

"Right." Black eyed her unwaveringly. "Look, princess… I don't give a flying fuck what you think of me but know one thing: _I am not a Death Eater._ Never was. Will never be." He gritted his teeth. "And don't you _fucking_ _dare_ to call me one ever again. I'm sick and tired of it."

Lucy blinked. "I…"

"…second thing: I promised Remus that I would protect you. If you do what I say, you won't get bitten. If you Transfigure me back into my human form or something, and turn him against me, you won't be doing yourself a favour. Also, human Remus will be _very cross_ with you if he finds out on the morrow. Because he's my childhood friend… and he somewhat cares about me… oh, by the fucking by, it was also him who gave me your wand." Black's eyes were bright and menacing. "Got it?"

Lucy opened her mouth, then closed it. She could not remember the last time she'd felt so ashamed. "I…," she whispered. "I thought you were…"

The tall man was still ignoring her. "Third thing," he said icily. "This is my real face. Name's Sirius Orion Black. Friend to Albus Dumbledore. Member of the Order of the Phoenix. Thrown in jail for twelve fucking years for a crime I didn't commit. General disappointment for my family, mind you. And I'm still not a Death Eater."

Lucy could only stare at him and try to keep her mouth shut. In that moment, he was terribly frightening, but with a certain decorum which reminded her of the dragons she'd tamed. She doubted, however, that there was a force in the entire universe that could ever tame this man.

 _Oh crap,_ Lucy thought. She knew that low, quivering feeling at the pit of her stomach all too well – it was the kind of haze generated by the Myron Wagtails, Bill Weasleys and other despicable creatures she'd ever developed a soft spot for.

They were standing apart, facing each other from inches, and Black was staring at her as if inwardly debating whether he should jinx her into pieces, or undress her on the spot.

Lucy could allow neither of those things to happen right now.

"Okay," she said softly. "Look… we're at a point where my logic is one hundred percent broken. If you tell the truth, which I think you do… and I'm good at spotting lies…" She shook her head. "Let's just drop this for now, okay? We're in very big shit, so let's get out of it. I'll help you if you'll help me. No more _Slytherin'_ from my part. Explanations later. Until then we're, say, business partners. Right?"

She extended her hand. Black hesitated, then reached out and squeezed it.

"Business partners," he echoed hoarsely.

"Great," Lucy forced a smile. "I was in Gryffindor, by the way."

"Wouldn't have thought."

"Yeah… well, the Sorting Hat _did_ consider Slytherin, but then it decided that Gryffindor would inspire me to stand up for others and to do things for the _greater good."_ Lucy snorted. "Anyway, it didn't really work out for me. I never gave House identity much thought, by the way… I just didn't wanna be a Hufflepuff. I don't like wearing yellow."

Black raised an eyebrow. "Women…"

"How about you?"

"Unlike most Blacks, I roar and I lack venom."

Lucy wasn't particularly surprised – there were so many other things about him that _surprised_ her, anyway. Maybe later, there would be time to dwell on that…

She extended Black's wand. "Here you go. I wanna have mine back. I'm better with it."

Black accepted the offer, his eyes resting on her. For a long moment, he stood frozen, the two wands in his two hands, visibly astonished at being trusted.

(Not that he _was_ ).

"You could kill me with a snap of your fingers anyway," said Lucy softly. "You've made that quite clear."

For a moment, Black was about to say something, but he suddenly became tense, entirely tense; and Lucy snatched her wand from his palm – still warm of his touch and a little bit dusty, but otherwise unscathed.

"Remus," Black said hoarsely.

"I know he's coming." Lucy could hear the howl of the wolf as it caught their scent again, awfully familiar and awfully close. "So… what do we do?"

"You run without ever looking back. I'll keep him off."

Lucy pursed her lips. "All night?"

"Well, we can't exactly take him back to the village before dawn, can we?"

"Actually, we can… if you can hold him steady for about five minutes…"

Black frowned. "What will you do to him?"

"It's called the Homorphus Charm…" Lucy flinched a bit when the wolf howled again, now dangerously close. "It will turn him back into a man. I suppose it hurts a bit, but it's still better than the natural way."

"And you can do it?"

"I've done it before."

"Right. We still need to get him outta here first."

"Wait, what about Dung?" Lucy's eyes widened.

"Plans change." Black crossed his arms. "I _did_ warn him about that. What about the key?"

"I couldn't…"

"Thought as much. It doesn't matter… Dumbledore wanted to have you back at all costs. He'll tell us what to do next. Anyway, I want to get out of the range of that Anti-Apparition Jinx before we do anything else."

"All right. I think I can do it."

"Then fire away, princess. As soon as you see him. I'll be in your heels."

 _(to be continued)_

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

This chapter marks the start of Lucy and Sirius's ongoing play with the word _Slytherin_ as in "slithering" – _distorting information, slipping tactfully away or tactically saving one's skin._ Jokes are kind of… generally ruined by explication, but I didn't want any of you to miss that. :)

 **Thank you for reading. Reviews are always appreciated!**


	12. What Dads Do

**Chapter 12 – What Dads Do**

Nothing could boost one's concentration skills quite as much as imminent danger: Lucy had learned that much from her Centaur friends.

To this day, she wasn't sure what had kept her unscratched while playing hop-scotch on stones over rushing rivers, climbing unstable cliffs or chasing Erklings in knee-deep grass. Those days, she had been a teenager, convinced of her own glorious and invincible nature. She had also maintained the quiet certainty that Ronan, Bane or perhaps Magorian would save her skin whenever she did anything truly stupid.

It was only later that she understood how alien it was to the nature of Centaurs to right others' wrongs. All they did were pass her morsels of their knowledge, guide her steps, watch her grow. They had never schooled her, reprimanded her or questioned her decisions, determined as they were that every momentum of one's existence had been written in the stars; and as time passed, Lucy had grown to suspect that if during one of their more dangerous ventures, she were to fall and break her neck, the Centaurs would label the incident as a mere inconvenience of fate. Slightly disconcerting as that thought was, it had taught her to respect nature and its power.

Perhaps it was that very respect that guided her steps now, as she ran as fast as she could without doubling over, and the wolf kept huffing in her heels.

The first ten minutes passed in a blur: she was running in zigzags, now faster, now slower, now back on her own tracks, now around her tracks, now sharply ahead, now falling back… at times, she could hear the wolf and the dog snarling at each other. By now, they were both bloody, tired and enraged – that made the wolf sly, and the dog bold.

Lucy kept running along erratic patterns, guarding her breath and saving her strength. The forest helped – the tree-trunks stood stern and majestic like a stationing army on the watch; and the swardy ground was a sea around her feet, waves lapping at her ankles and knees. The moon, however, was a traitor, _exposing her:_ a burning gaze that never left her back.

The dog and the wolf were always in her heels; most of the time, it was one chasing the other, but there were moments of abandon when they were running nip and tuck, and she could not decide which one she feared more. The wolf – pupils narrowed with murderous purpose, teeth white and claws sharp; or the dog – eyes alight with mischief and mirth, practically prancing with enjoyment. Yes – he was _enjoying this,_ and Lucy did not know what to make of that fact. The temptation of using her wand was greater than ever, but she kept resisting it. _Just a little further_ …

Her body hummed with excitement as she neared the edge of the Anti-Apparition Jinx. It was only some two hundred yards away now…

As soon as she's out, she would Disapparate – not far, just the other side of the forest. She could do this. She _had to_ do this. If she splinched herself, well… Black might help, or he might not. Anyway, she would find Dung, and question him, break into his mind if she had to, and search for proof of Black's innocence. If he'd told her the truth, then great. If not… well, then she'd have to find a way to separate Remus from Black. She had a few ideas.

Lucy grabbed her wand under her cloak and murmured a few words; the barrier of Worple's enchantment appeared at the edge of her vision like a glowing, impenetrable wall of gold.

 _Cool,_ Lucy thought. It was only a small leap away, on the other bank of the forest stream. She could do such a jump with her eyes closed – she had done much worse…

She imagined herself as an arrow, gliding sharp and clear through the mist-laden air, elusive yet buoyant; light, yet sticking ruthlessly to her purpose.

 _Across the river. One single leap._

Distantly, she could feel the tip of her boot slipping on a damp tussock, then heaven and earth switched places. Next thing she knew, she was no longer an arrow but a rock, falling straight into the murmuring waters. Instinctively, she ducked her head and spread her arms so the impact wouldn't make her pass out; then, as she realized what was to come, she ended up wishing it had.

Her wand must have fallen out of her pocket – it was nowhere, and her frantic fingers only grabbed at algae and smooth river stones as they searched for it. There was a loud splashing sound, and she felt something large and heavy falling into the water behind her. All she could do was sink further down, her nails digging into drift-sand and hornwort, fighting the urge to gasp for air.

What was to come was worse than drowning, anyway.

The pain was horrifying; burning, searing and pounding at the same time; so strong, so outrageously nauseating that Lucy could not find words or even concepts for it; she could only claw at the algae and scream. Something sharp lodged into the nape of her neck and rived up her skin as far down as her shoulder-blades. It hurt so much that ultimately, it was almost good – a strange, dizzying feeling, horror mixed with negation and shock; a storm's eye within the layers of agony; almost calming, almost _delicate_.

At the second wave of skin-ripping and flesh-searing, Lucy started to pass out, fighting the rise of her stomach. Some part of her, that wasn't screaming in pain, noted that if she were to vomit right now, she would probably choke and die.

 _(Like Jimi Hendrix. Only, Jimi Hendrix didn't have a werewolf lacerating him. Or... who knows, anyway)._

Maybe she was just hallucinating, but it seemed to her that she heard a deep, thundering growl; and she felt two bodies fighting over hers. The water was thick with blood – the smell of it, the texture, the taste. There was a muffled yelp, then a howl of pain; then, her ankle was grabbed and suddenly, she was no longer underwater, and her field of vision was filled with two large, yellow eyes.

Lucy clambered away as she could, leaned over a bush, and threw up. The slightest contortion of her muscles made her feel like her flesh was tugged and pulled with a filleting knife, and she could feel warm rivulets of blood washing down her back. The moon was bright and shining…

 _What was happening? Why wasn't she turning into a man-slaughtering beast…?_

Suddenly, Black was kneeling in front of her, wand in hand. He touched the side of her face, checked her pulse and pulled her hair out of the inferno of her injuries with a languid ease which suggested that he was no stranger to the sight of blood.

"I… slipped," Lucy managed.

"You can talk. That's already it."

"Why… why isn't it happening? It bit me. The wolf… bit me."

"Nah, that was the claws. Trust me, princess, if it bites, you will _feel it_ …"

Black conjured Lucy's wand from the river with a snap of his fingers; but the wolf chose that very same moment to charge at them again, desperately enraged.

"What a fucking mess," Black murmured, and he shook his head. "Close your eyes. This will be ugly."

" _You –"_

Next thing she knew, Black was nowhere – she could only see the large, black dog wrestling with the wolf. It was a horrifying battle of teeth and claws, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not tear her eyes away from them. The only thing that held Lucy back from screaming was the fact that even _breathing_ sent waves of agony through her muscles, and veins, and bones… as well as other body components, the existence of which she had not even acknowledged before.

The wolf was much stronger, much _bolder_ than any beast had the right to be; and on top of it all, it was sly, too. Now it took the dog by the neck, now it scrunched its backbone, now it clawed at its ribs – and all that in a maddening, unpredictable pattern, again and again. It was terrifying to watch as the dog fought back, at first only whining, then howling in pain. The wolf did not whine when its blood was drawn – it only snarled and cracked its jaw.

And then – then there was a moment when it fully registered in Lucy's pain-hazed mind that the dog and the wolf were, in truth, _men_ – one that she held dear as a friend, and one she had betrayed three times already, over the mere span of twenty-four hours for which she'd known him.

Myron Wagtail had made a face when she needed her green card falsified, fearing that he would get in trouble; Bill Weasley had screamed her head off when she'd gotten herself sealed into a pyramid with a nasty Haunting Curse. And this man –

This man was fighting for her life against an enraged werewolf. With his bare hands. Okay, paws. But _bare_.

With that realization came the commitment to do something. Every breath felt like a stab between her ribs and even blinking demanded a great effort, but _she had to do something._ She knew she still had a shot of magic in her before she would finally pass out…

Gritting her teeth, she raised her wand inch by inch, and aimed it at the wolf's head; then, she narrowed her eyes in concentration and whispered the only spell that came to her mind:

" _Stupefy!"_

There was a flash of red light, then a loud bang… and something large and heavy landed on the ground. Lucy closed her eyes and let the realm of stupor finally claim her.

She sincerely hoped that it was the wolf she had hit.

* * *

Lucy woke up face down on a hard stone floor; half-naked, limbs outstretched, with the cool tip of a wooden stick pressed lightly against her backbone. There was a warm, soothing pulse radiating from it that seemed to ease the terrible pain of her injuries.

Glancing sideways, she saw her own wand, near the wall of what had to be a cave: the only source of light. Either the cave was very large, or it wasn't morning yet…

"Don't move," said Black's hoarse voice above her. "I'm fixing your back."

" _How'diyaknow…?"_ Lucy managed. Her head was dizzy, and her tongue seemed suddenly unable to form syllables properly.

"Change of tension in your neck. I'm not an idiot."

Lucy was fairly positive that only an idiot would attack a werewolf _like that…_ however, something suggested to her that it would not be quite wise to share that thought with him. Nor was she sure that Black would even care – he finished his enchantment, and moved on to another, one that felt like morsels of ice being stuffed inside the hollow of her neck.

"Let's see how your head fares," said the tall man. "What's your name?"

"Lucy Da'lish."

"Hogwarts house?"

" 'ffyndor…"

"Who is the Minister for Magic?"

"Da' bowler-hatted fuck…"

"Fair enough… which country are we in?"

"Romania…"

"Okay. So, what is your bra size?"

"None of your… fucking… business…"

"Guess you'll live, after all," said Black, with the faintest shade of amusement in his voice.

"Yeah…" The cogwheels in Lucy's brain slowly set into motion. "Wait… wait, _you stripped me!"_

"I thought you would prefer it to bleeding out. Was I wrong?"

She bit her lip. "No… s'rry…"

" _Don't move,"_ Black repeated harshly. Lucy obeyed in silence for approximately three minutes, then another thought hit her.

" _Remus…"_

"…is not here. I'll go and look for him in the morning. Dung and Buckbeak are also okay. Back in the lodge. They've had an ugly encounter with Worple, but nothing terrible. Dung got one of his teeth knocked out, so if he mentions that, say that you're _very sorry, of course_ … or else you'll never hear the end of it."

"One of his teeth…" Lucy murmured.

"Yeah. See, the hardships some face…"

Lucy snorted, which was immediately rewarded by a lightning-bolt of pain along her back, and a whispered curse from Black.

"Sorry… sorry. Did I mess it up?"

"A bit. Now hold your breath, will you?"

This time, he spoke the enchantment aloud, and Lucy realised that she knew some components of it – surprisingly enough, the entire incantation was crafted out of basic, Hogwarts-level healing spells; they were, however, woven together in such ingenious ways that it would have earned a nod from any professional healer, as far as Lucy was concerned. She could not help but think of Remus, as the pair of them had swayed through Sanguini's ballroom…

 _My friends helped me quite a deal to keep the secret. And they didn't hate me for it, which seemed, honestly, a bit too nice to be true_.

Lucy realized that Sirius Black must have been one of those friends; and she could not help but be amazed. He was _so not_ what she had expected. He was so… well, the right word might be a mixture of noble and idiotic; so, all in all, something like _heroic._ Yes, that would probably be it… although she'd never met a hero before. They were not supposed to exist, after all.

(And there was still some slight chance that Black had lied to her and was only awaiting an appointment with his Death Eater friends).

At that point of her thinking, another thing occurred to her; and it was so grave, so important, so _definitive_ that her heart suddenly started hammering in her chest.

"Arct… _Sirius,"_ Lucy choked.

"Now what?" Black sighed. His palm was resting across her shoulder-blades, where her sudden motion had ripped open a freshly healed section of her wounds.

"…I mean, do you mind if I call you Sirius?"

"Do I _mind?"_ His voice was aghast. "Why would I… _what the hell is it, anyway?"_

"…if it wasn't for you, I'd – well, I think I owe you my life."

"Wonderful situation analysis. Now, if you would relax, please… you're tearing a sinew…"

"I don't give a fuck!" Lucy snapped. "This is important! _You saved my life!"_

"Well, I haven't finished saving it yet, so in case you'd rather bleed, you're very welcome to continue ruining my work!" Black growled. His voice was suddenly so icy and frightening that temperature in the cave seemed to sink by several degrees. "Just why the _fuck_ you care? Remus asked me to protect you and so I did. End of story."

"But you didn't need to do that," Lucy whispered. "I mean – to go that far. Gosh, you're probably all wounded and bloody yourself. And you're…"

" _Shut up!"_

There was an eerie force of command in that voice; strong and somewhat malicious, and so cold, so _terribly_ cold that she chewed her lip, and for a second, she had to fight back tears. She laid still until the incantation was finished, hardly even daring to breathe, eyes closed, and senses sharpened.

"You're done," Black declared after ten more minutes of sullen silence. "I think you should go to Saint Mungo's when we're back in England, just in case… they might give you something for the skin."

"There's no way in hell I'd go miles within Saint Mungo's with werewolf scars," Lucy muttered. "They won't heal anyway. And I don't give a shit about my skin."

That could not have been further from the truth, of course, but she wasn't about to talk about such technicalities. Black had to have a terrible enough opinion of her already, there was no need to make it worse…

Lucy slowly raised herself on all fours, more out of habit than necessity, then stood, careful not to face Black. She found her clothes in a heap, next to the wall of the cave; she took her wand, cleaned her clothes and stitched them up with a Repairing Charm as well as she could, then dressed in the humid darkness, heart still pounding in her throat.

She found the tall man at the mouth of the cave, gazing wordlessly out into the dark tumult of the Harghita Mountains. Somewhere over the forest, dawn was about to break; and the promise of light draped the skies in a faint, reddish-grey glow.

"You – you can stand and walk, right?" Said Lucy, fighting the sudden urge to slap herself. Since when did she allow _men_ to intimidate her…?

"Yeah."

"Okay. So… there's a stream down below."

"Thirsty?"

"No. I need you to wash yourself so I can fix…"

"Don't worry about that," said Black. His voice was still very harsh.

Lucy pursed her lips. "I've studied a bit of healing, you know. I needed it for my job."

"Since when do bank clerks study _healing?"_

"I didn't exactly intend to end up as one. See, I'm originally a dragon trainer."

That was intriguing enough for Black to at least look at her. "A dragon trainer. _You."_

"There's no need to be some strong bloke to do that, you know," Lucy quipped, a lot more defensively than intended. "Dragons are bigger than us anyway."

"Yeah, but…" Black shook his head, then winced; it must have hurt him to do that. "Wouldn't have thought."

"Yeah… so I won't mess it up, you know. I know how to fix wounds."

"I said _don't worry about it."_

"That's the least I owe you, really," said Lucy uncertainly.

"You owe me nothing. Now stuff it, and leave me be…"

Lucy crossed her arms, leaning leisurely against the wall of the cave. "You look like hell, honestly."

"No way! I've always won the Azkaban modelling contests."

She suppressed a snort. "You're not gonna bullshit yourself out of this, Sirius. You're badly injured, and I'm going to fix you if that's the last thing I do. Now – we can do this the nice way, with you dragging your ass down to the river and doing as I say, or we can go roundabout – either with you needing to incapacitate me before I stun you and rub you clean myself, or with Remus getting traumatic disorders from the sight of what he had done to you. Name your preference."

"What if you rubbed me clean, but I was awake?" Said Black tentatively, after a moment of silent consideration. His dark, vicious mood was gone in a blink of an eye – the rapidity, the _suddenness_ of it was all but reassuring.

"Not a chance," said Lucy. "Off you go!"

And so they went.

* * *

It was a beautiful day – dazzling and clear, but not stifling hot, and the village looked cosier than ever as Lucy walked through it and stopped at the corner of the main street for an ice cream. The confectioner winked at her as he always would, and he kept on calling her _baby_ (that was probably the only English word he knew), and she found the entire _farce_ just as onerously endearing as any other day.

She relished in that daily dose of light annoyance; it was relieving. Familiar. _Safe_ – a proof that the galaxy had not collapsed overnight, that the Earth was still moving, and everything was going to be all right.

This was not the end of the world.

(No man would be able to undress her anymore without stifling a yelp at the sight of her scars, and her next Boggart was probably going to be Remus himself).

Still, this was not the end of the world.

 _You're such a bitch,_ Lucy scolded herself. _He could not help it. It was the wolf. It's not his fault._

She was scarred for life, and she was going to have nightmares. New ones.

 _It's not his fault._

She was afraid of going back to the lodge and meeting Remus. What was she about to say? And what was _he_ about to say? How could she tell him what happened?

 _He should never know._

Lucy closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. No, Remus would never know what he'd done to her. Nobody would know.

 _It's nobody's business._

(Men would undress her, then leave, because let's face it, those scars probably _are_ horrible… she probably looks like Wolverine, or something… not even Bill is into that kind of stuff, no matter how weird he is…)

 _It could have been worse._

Lucy chewed her lip and watched as her ice cream oozed drop by drop into the ditch. She knew that she was a bad person – distant and self-absorbed, overly sarcastic and proud, sneaky and often dishonest. Until today, she had been beautiful, at least.

 _Quit your whining, it doesn't show. It's only your back. You can still fake it._

She gritted her teeth, fought back the tears, and climbed the hill to the hunting lodge.

* * *

Every step up the stairs was a frontier of barbed wire, a lava pit, a fault-line of destruction.

 _It was not his fault._

The door opened, betraying her with a creak, and Lucy suddenly felt like she had been tossed into the spotlight in an arena full of people…

 _People who had been waiting for, like, the Weird Sisters and all they got was a pretty blonde – well, pretty enough if not for her horrendously scarred skin._

 _Occlude,_ she commanded herself. _It was not his fault_.

 _He would never hurt me. He was not himself._

The kitchen was empty, as well as the adjoining room, and Lucy was thankful for the delay that fact meant. She took a few calming breaths, then another few… finally, she gave it up and simply stopped breathing until her heartbeat slowed down, her limbs slackened, and black spots started to dance in front of her eyes.

There. She was calmed.

Now, she would only need to climb those stairs. One by one, to the top. And then –

 _And then, the Next Act is on_.

* * *

Remus was sitting in his study, much like the way he always would at this time of the day. He had a newspaper in one hand – the Prophet –, and he was holding a cup of chocolate with the other. Mundungus was seated in the other armchair, the one that was usually hers; and Sirius Black was sleeping soundly on Remus's bed. If not for his presence, Lucy could have thought that the entire adventure had been a bad dream, and this was still one of those eventless afternoons when they were all sitting together, getting slowly drunk on chocolate-and-Firewhiskey, trying to find a way to get Sanguini's key. Remus certainly _was_ his old self, _or at least he seemed to be –_ Lucy had seen him with bloodshot eyes before, after all. It was just the Moon.

 _He could not help it._

It seemed that Black had healed the worst of his injuries, too – other than his paleness and the way his shoulders slumped, nothing suggested that he had been roaming around all night. All he probably needed was a good night's sleep – but there was no time for that now. Dumbledore wanted them back, and Dumbledore would always get what he wanted.

 _Occlude,_ Lucy reminded herself one last time, and she crossed the threshold, as leisurely as she could.

"Oi, moonshine," she called out. "Nice chocolate you've had there."

With that, she stepped over and took the entire, deliciously steaming mug from his hands. Then, she conjured herself an armchair next to the window, settled down comfortably, and took a generous sip.

Remus stared at her as if he'd seen her for the first time in his life.

"Not a word!" Lucy raised an accusing finger. "You chased me through the entire fucking forest. My muscles are sore at places I didn't even know I had. If you want a chocolate, you'll make yourself another one!"

Remus opened his mouth, then shut it without a single sound. The entire scene was so comical that Lucy no longer needed to fake her grin.

"…you're a pretty wolf, by the way. Very grey. I thought you'd be the colour of your hair, but I guess it suits you."

Remus shook his head weakly. "I didn't… I didn't attack you?"

"Just told you… we played tug. I should've counted the steps, or something." Lucy rolled her eyes theatrically. "Must have been at least three miles. Jeez, don't werewolves ever get _tired,_ or something…?" She squinted at Remus. "What…? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"You don't… don't you hate me now?" He asked, completely dumbfounded.

"Erm… no?"

"And you're not, like, deadly afraid of me…?"

Lucy tilted her head. "Is there an insult here I didn't know I made…? Some wolf thing? Like, should I tell you that you're absolutely _terrifying_ or else you won't feel accomplished or…"

" _I'm not joking!"_ Remus snapped. "This is important for me, okay? So, don't you…"

 _Yes,_ Lucy thought, _I kind of do._

 _Occlude!_

"…Merlin's balls, do I have to spell this out for you? _You're not a bad guy._ You're my friend Remus. The full moon is over. And if you go on insisting, I'll throw my choco right into your face and I'll chase you with my training whip until you replace it."

Remus's eyes were two open wells of gratitude. "I…"

Lucy raised the mug menacingly. "It has _spikes,_ you know."

"I'd totally watch that," Mundungus remarked.

Lucy's eyes narrowed. "Well, now that I think of it, I guess _you've_ earned a thorough spanking, if not more…"

"Did somebody say spanking…?" Said Black's hoarse voice from the bed.

"I don't think you're into that kind of stuff, Sirius," said Remus with a very straight face. "On another note," he continued relentlessly, _"you shouldn't have come after me!_ You don't realise how terribly irresponsible that was, and anyway…"

"Sirius!" Lucy interrupted in a sing-song voice, "are you _entirely sure_ that you're not a mass murderer?"

"Well, I don't know," said Black with a grin. "if you ask me real nice… and let's not forget about the spanking, of course…"

"No, I mean, _really!"_ Said Remus stubbornly. "You shouldn't have done that kind of stuff for me. Neither of you… anyway, I _am_ very grateful for it. I owe you, and all that, and I… I don't know what to say, really."

"So what if you'd finally shut up?" Mundungus offered.

"Dung...," said Black theatrically, "that might have been the first sensible idea you've had today."

"Remus," said Lucy softly, fondly, only partially aware of the fact that every eye was on her. "You're my _friend,_ okay? Besides, trying to smart me out of certain things is terribly counter-productive. If I want to rescue you, that is what I'll do, and it's not like you have a say in it." She bit her lip. "And I could have never done it without Sirius, anyway."

"Oh, I guess you could have," said Black lightly. "Slight casualties… a few more detonations…"

" _I told you I was sorry!"_

"And do you expect me to believe that?" He was grinning at her, but there was a strange light in his grey eyes; and Lucy realised that she was being acutely _observed_.

"Did you _tell him…?"_ She blurted out, unable to control herself, unable to hide the panic from her eyes for a moment. Black noticed, and he shook his head.

"I guess that's up to you."

" _What?"_

Everyone stared at Mundungus, who kept looking from Lucy to Black and back. "Why in the devil wo'd it be up ta her ta say that…? That's pretty fookin' terrible the way 'tis. That Ya-Know-Who fella' gives us all the chills, even after all these years."

Lucy inhaled sharply, and Black closed his eyes for a moment.

"What is it that you should tell me?" Asked Remus dangerously.

"Okay…," said Black. He sat up in bed and stretched his long legs. "So… do we still have that Firewhiskey?"

"I guess so," said Lucy quickly. "I'll… I'll go and look for it. Give you guys a moment, and all."

She did not want to be there when Remus was told about You-Know-Who.

Even the best actresses needed breaks.

* * *

Some drinks and revelations later, they were all sitting in the kitchen, listening to the soft patter of rain outside the window. Black had drawn a few new protective enchantments around the house so they would at least know if they were attacked; however, the additional layers of security only made them warier. Lucy caught herself glancing out every now and then, half-expecting Worple and Sanguini gritting their teeth at her.

They still had at least four or five hours until nightfall, when they would be able to leave the village unnoticed. Black insisted on passing at Markus's inn,saying that the old man had grown on him: an idea which Remus firmly opposed. They were still bickering about that when the owl came.

"Hey!" Lucy called sharply. She opened the window so the elegant barn owl could fleet in; it hovered around the room, then landed tactfully on Remus's knee.

"It's from Dumbledore!" He gasped after a few seconds of searching.

"Then what are you waiting for?!" Black snapped. "Read it!"

Remus did not have to read the words out loud, as they all gathered around him within a few moments to have a look.

 _Dear Remus,_

 _By all means, I hope that my friend has found you._

 _As urgent as your return might have been until as much as an hour ago, as inadvisable it is now. If you have followed the news in the past few days, you know that there had been talk of me being removed from the Wizengamot. That talk had materialised in an official decision this morning, when the Minister for Magic has, as some might inelegantly say, given me the boot._

 _This, of course, has major impact on you and your mission._

 _I advise you and Mundungus to stay where you are. Try not to draw any attention on yourselves. In a week or so, we shall definitely meet again – you are expected to wait, however, until you get another message from me. I cannot bear the thought of you getting endangered by my momentarily corroded reputation._

 _Miss Dawlish, however, shall have to present herself at the Ministry at her father's bidding, who is measuredly upset at me "getting hand in glove with his daughter". In order to stop those rumours, and for her to be able to keep her employ, I trust you to remove all compromising memories from her head, at least momentarily, as she is likely to be questioned under Veritaserum._

 _Please let me express my regrets over this most uncomfortable turn of events – it might take me a whole day to find a way around the Wizengamot. Nevertheless, I shall give you a signal as soon as I can._

 _Yours faithfully,_

 _Albus Dumbledore_

 _P.S.: It might be useful to ask for Charles Weasley's assistance to help Miss Dawlish get back to England. He has been warned._

They all stared at the piece of parchment for five sullen, silent seconds.

" _Expelliarmus,"_ said Lucy, and stuffed the influx of wands into her pockets. Her fingers flexed and unflexed; she drew a deep breath, trying to suppress the hot, quivering feeling in her stomach.

"There is no need for that," said Remus tiredly.

"Yes, there is. No one messes with my brain. No one. Not even you."

"Lucy…"

" _And what the fuck is that about my father?!"_ She hissed.

"He's worried 'bout ya," Mundungus said uncertainly. "Y'know, what dads do…"

A window shattered into a thousand pieces behind them, a shard cutting Lucy's arm. Remus gasped, and Black instinctively covered his face with his palms – then winced, as if ashamed of his own reaction.

Lucy turned away; she did not want to see the others, to look at them. She could not allow herself to lose control like that again.

"Do you know what my dad did, Dung?" She said, her voice calm. "She threw me out because I ran away with a guy. When I was sixteen. Just like that. He told me that I was _compromising_ him."

She heard a sharp inhale behind her back. She did not know whose it was, and she cared even less.

"Actually, that's not even the worst… the worst thing he did was _nothing._ The Death Eaters murdered my mother, I had bad dreams, I was afraid of everyone… I didn't have friends… still, my father did _nothing_. He tucked me safely away in Hogwarts until I grew too old to follow his orders – then I've been _disposed of._ Years passed – years without me getting hot meals or being able to pay my landlord. And now, guess what? The prodigal daughter returneth. My job pays probably better than his. And yikes, I'm a threat. I could _compromise_ him again, so he has to play the role of the Conservatively Protective, Concerned Father… and you know what? I'm having none of his bullshit! This is not going to go the way he thinks!"

The second window shuttered, and Lucy closed her eyes. They were stinging.

"That's… that's pretty awful." Remus's voice was softer than she'd ever heard it. "And I'm so sorry, but… but if Fudge finds out about our mission, your father shall have exactly what he, and the entire Ministry wants: a proof that Dumbledore is up to something. That is why we need to follow his plan – but we don't need to do this in the exact way he offered. You could remove those memories yourself. I will protect them for you. I promise that they will remain intact."

"I've already told you," said Lucy. "No one messes with my brain. That includes _myself_. I will not suffer a Memory Charm being cast on me under any circumstances. I've spent _years_ trying to master my mind, Remus! No one will take that away from me as long as I draw breath."

"What is your preferred solution, then?" Remus asked, with the faintest undertone of exasperation in his voice.

"The only _existing_ solution is that you follow Dumbledore's orders, and stay here," said Lucy demurely.

"And you?"

"I will go back to London. Head intact. And save our skins."

"You cannot have the _audacity_ to think that you will outsmart the entire Ministry."

Lucy felt the hugest, most vicious grin spread on her face. "I do not think that. I _know_ that. See, contrary to my father, _I_ am a vengeful person."

The three men were looking at her with various degrees of alarm and incredulity. Dung had paled and he was ogling the wands she was clutching in her hand. Remus was visibly trying to remain calm, and restrain from scolding her – protective, as always. Black, however, was staring right into her eyes, his gaze openly curious, and somewhat _understanding_.

"So," he said, "if you were to have your way, how would you do it?"

"What?"

"Let's say you go to the Ministry in all your vengeful glory, and you even get your own theme music. What do you do next?"

"I know my father," said Lucy slowly. "I know his way of thinking, and I will tell exactly what he wants to hear. He will keep me out of trouble… He will protect the reputation of his own name." She grimaced. "And you know, when the Potions Master wasn't busy wagging his tongue on us Gryffindors, he actually _taught_ me stuff. I know how to deal with Veritaserum."

"And how do I know that you don't happen to be after the ten thousand Galleons' price on my head?" Black sneered.

"You can come with me," said Lucy.

" _That is the worst idea the entire universe has ever seen!"_ Remus asserted.

"Well, it definitely wouldn't be _wise_ to do that, would it?" Said Black softly. He snapped his fingers, and the three wands slipped out of Lucy's reach, and they all went back to their owners.

"I'd say it borders _insane_ ," Remus sighed. "Just imagine what happened if you got caught… and Lucy, you told me you had problems with long-distance Apparition. How would you even go back to London?"

"Yeah… that would be a total disaster." Black waved his wand again. "Pretty windows," he said absently. "Would be a shame to leave them broken like dreams." Next thing Lucy knew he was touching her arm. "You cut yourself... Did you notice that?"

"No…" She closed her eyes as she felt the familiar healing warmth creep up her left arm. "Thanks."

"We shall stay, then," said Remus assertively.

"Oh yeah, about that," Black drawled. He was very close, and the warmth of his hand was spreading on Lucy's skin. "Remus – do you remember what I told you after the banquet in Seventh Year?"

He blinked. "A fair amount of drunken nonsense, as I recall. Why?"

"I might have leaked an important detail about trusting me."

Remus looked away. "You know that I trust you."

"Oi, look at that!" Black grinned. "His drunken stupor erased all those sweet memories from Remus's Remarkable Remembrance."

" _Stuff it!"_

"Well, my bitey friend, I told you that you could trust me with everything. _Everything but three things_ – because if you gave me those things, I would take them away. So, those three things were, I think, your cigs… then probably whiskey… and finally – women."

Black's nails were suddenly digging into Lucy's arm. Part of her brain already understood what was about to happen, while the other part was busy figuring out _why_.

There was a moment of stillness – a moment when Remus already _understood,_ but he could not quite _believe;_ a moment when Lucy wanted to break free from the tall man's grip, but something urged her to stay.

Then, the moment passed.

" _Au revoir,"_ said Black elegantly.

"You can thank us later," Lucy offered.

And they disappeared.

 _(to be continued)_

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Sirius's reasons shall be, at least, hinted at…_

 _It should be mentioned that Lucy is not half as innocent in the deterioration of her relationship with her father as she suggests. She will reflect on her father (and other members of her family) much more in a sequel that I will – hopefully – start posting in May 2019._

 _Also... I cannot help but feel disappointed that while so many people seem to read - or at least, view - this story, they stay mostly silent. It goes without saying that I will continue posting this story until completion (and it will get its sequel)... because I'm not here for the reviews... It's just that I don't know what I am doing wrong, and as a perfectionist, I find that frustrating._

 _Anyway, thank you for the MANY views (I'm very grateful for that as well) and special HUGE thanks to Crackers, Hirfael and Son of Whitebeard for their comments!_


	13. Under Scrutiny

_**miya:** Thank you so-so much! I - along with Lucy and Sirius - am very happy you enjoyed your read! : ) (Well, yeah, everyone deserves a little vacation sometimes, eh?)_ **  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 13 – Under Scrutiny**

They appeared hand in hand at the edge of a small, weedy square, in uncomfortable proximity of a reeking container. Black immediately pressed Lucy down behind it and placed a firm hand on her mouth. There was a distant _whoosh_ as a bus passed in the parallel street, then silence settled in the neighbourhood once again.

This was the longest Apparition Lucy had ever experienced; it had felt like being pressed through the eye of a needle instead of the usual narrow tube, and the sudden cease of perpetual movement around her made her stomach rise.

"Ouch…" She moaned softly. She felt something hot and wet dripping down her back, and she had a very good idea what it was – Black noticed it, too, and he cursed softly under his breath.

"Shit. I knew I shouldn't have done it in one go. Try not to tear the skin further, will you…? I'll fix it when we're done. Provided that you won't get sneaky again."

Lucy was too drained to even bite back. She closed her eyes instead, trying to get a grip on herself. Her head still felt dizzy. "Are we in 'Ciuc, or something?"

"And what the bloody hell would we be doing there?" Black raised an eyebrow. "I thought you would recognize good ol' White Oaks in all its glory." He sniffed theatrically in the air. "Home sweet home, huh?"

"White Oaks… wait, we're in London?" Lucy looked around as if she was fearing a raid of armed Ministry forces. "You just Apparated us through the entire goddamn _continent?!"_

"Should I have waited for a signed permission, or what?" Black's voice had that malicious edge again. "You said you could fix things, so here's your chance."

"Uh… okay… yeah."

Lucy gathered herself for the umpteenth time that day and stood. Over the surface of the container, she could see a raunchy semicircle of houses with weed-overgrown gateways and tottering trash bags. Windows were squinting down on them like inquiring eyes, but not a soul was around. With an effort, Lucy could spell out the words _Grimmauld place_ on a street sign at the corner.

Black had not lied – this was the very brink of White Oaks, just a few corners away from her father's house. The scenery had changed over the years, though… _did someone piss the garbagemen off?_

"…all right." Lucy took a deep breath and Occluded. "So now, I'm going to do a couple of _nasty_ things to keep my job, keep you outta jail, save Dumbledore's face… that kind of stuff." She eyed the tall man directly. _"You_ are nothing more than an unmannered stray I picked up in Romania. You bark, you wag your tail, you break vases… _anything_ that dogs do. I won't spoil your fun. But whatever I do… whatever I say… whatever you hear from those morons in there… _you don't_ _interfere_."

"Well, that depends," said Black darkly.

"We're gonna have to trust each other, I fear. You could just as easily blow the gaff on me as I could blow it on you. Don't worry, my Dad won't have any qualms about unleashing the Wizengamot on me as soon as he sees a chance. He'd probably think of it as something didactic. So are we even?"

Black stared at her. "Your Dad would put you to trial?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Lucy shrugged. "It wouldn't surprise me."

Black was still looking at her in a way that seemed to burn holes in her body. She grimaced.

"Well, let's just say that Dad… when I was younger, he had a very firm idea that I should be a certain way... do certain things… live my life like this and that… He'd envisioned me as a Ministry official, with the highly bunned hair and all. He refused – and probably still refuses – to see me any other way. If I were to beg for his forgiveness, he'd surely _forgive,_ oh yes… with the condition that I'd change. That I'd be _fixed._ That I'd be the way I _should_ be. See, he never even tried to understand who I actually _was_. He still has no idea about it, which is why he's gonna be fucked over real hard this time. I guess we should even thank him for that." Lucy gritted her teeth. "By the way, it's _none of your fucking business!"_

For a moment, Black looked like he was about to start an hour-long lecture on life choices. "…I was sixteen when I ran away, too, you know," he finally said, every word low and croaky like the murmur of some blighted blues singer. "Best thing I did in my entire life. So heads up."

Lucy stared at him, too aghast to even feel thankful. Black patted her on the shoulder with the slightest frown, then turned her gently towards the empty square in front of them.

"I know, I know. Still none of my fucking business. Now let's go. There are so many shoes to piss."

* * *

One tedious hour later, Lucy and the dog were standing in front of a smooth wooden door in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, gazes fixed on a small golden plate with the name _Senior Auror John Dawlish_ on it.

For Lucy, it felt like crossing a lava pit. She had not seen her father since she was sixteen – almost nine years ago. Was he supposed to look far older now? Was _she_ supposed to look more mature? Her magic held certain limitations, to be sure – while it had easily made her coiffure impeccable for once, her dress motelessly elegant and her heels uncomfortably high, it could not change her temper at will. She could certainly control her deep-rooted anger up to a certain point, but her father had always possessed some devilish skill to make her lose it…

This time, she would not, though. She was not sixteen anymore.

There were, however, still too many questions left unanswered. Would it mean anything to her father than she had come here on her own accord…? Because that is what she would tell him, of course. _That_ was what he needed to hear. He was just another man, after all, and all men wanted the same thing… For many years, Lucy had thought that the "one thing" in question was sex – but no. It was the thing she herself valued above all: ownership. _Control_.

If she continued to dwell on such things, though, her rage would surely show. _Rage_ was unbecoming on a woman; and Lucy had already learned that when a thing was _unbecoming,_ most of the time it was also entirely useless.

She smiled to herself – the sort of easy, coy smile she wore whenever she daydreamed about disembowelling her conversational partners – and she knocked lightly on the door.

"Enter," said her father's muffled voice, as tired and disillusioned as she knew it. For an absurd moment, Lucy wondered if he'd been sitting behind the same desk ever since their final argument, and she felt like crying; but the moment passed. She pressed the handle and walked in with her head held high, every step a flawless demonstration of elegance and ease.

John Dawlish placed his quill neatly into the inkwell before glancing up at her (and almost falling back in his chair).

" _Lucy…?"_

"Hi, Dad. Been a while, hasn't it?" She looked around, taking in the dusty – and mostly unchanged – furniture. "Wow, your orchids have quite grown. So have the trash piles." She grabbed the top document and held it out in front of herself to read. _"Carnivorous rubbish bins in Bristol. Three injured, five traumatised. Muggle "law procedure" to come. Blue light alert…_ Rubbish bins? Seriously?"

"Another wizard taking advantage of a well-meaning Muggle family," said John Dawlish drily. If his surprise still affected him, it did not show. "They bought the bins from a, I quote, _mysterious man;_ which, upon not being discharged soon enough, began spitting junk on passers-by. Then, a few months ago – and that is where we have picked up the case from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office – the same man sold the same Muggles a so-called _Tarot Curse,_ claiming that it would get rid of the _bad aura_ that made the bins, and I quote again, _behave badly._ Now _that_ is a violation level two of the Statute of Secrecy. The man's name is Mundungus Fletcher. Known friend of your new patron Dumbledore. Anything you might know…?"

"Not a clue," said Lucy with a very straight face. "I feel for you, though. It must be horrible to sit in a bureau all day reading about murderous rubbish bins."

"I wish that I would be only _reading_ about them," said her father, then he finally managed to look at her. "Well – at least you do not lie drunk and disillusioned in a ditch. When I heard about your new _employer,_ that is what I was fearing."

Lucy imagined slamming his head into the desk, and she smiled sweetly at him.

"My current employer is Ragnuk, the director of Gringotts. Whatever I do, I do it for the bank. Knowing how forward and wizard-friendly Goblins usually are, I'm sure he'll be ready to appease all your _fatherly concerns_. Now – the reason why I'm here is that I need a questioning order from you."

"A questioning order," John Dawlish repeated, aghast.

"…yeah? You know, small piece of paper, usually squarish, with that ugly grinning caricature of Merlin in the corner…"

"That's Ulick Gamp…"

"Whatever!"

"…wait, a questioning order _for whom?"_

"Myself," said Lucy, and she spread her arms somewhat theatrically. "You know, Veritaserum being illegal and all, it's a mere formality."

Her father looked at her sharply. "You _want_ to be questioned under Veritaserum?"

"No one will believe me otherwise. Dad… Dumbledore is _nuts._ He thinks that You-Know-Who's back, and all. And he has… he has weird friends. He does weird things. It freaks me out. I want to get out of this, but I can't lose my job, and all… I also think that Fudge kind of likes me. If I told him everything I knew about Dumbledore, he might not give me the boot… I mean, _Ragnuk_ might not give me the boot… well _shit."_

Lucy shut her eyes and tensed the muscles in her face for a few seconds – she emerged with a gracious blush, one that draped her cheekbones in the faintest shade of pink, and – she knew – one that made her very pretty.

"What was that about Fudge giving you the boot?" Asked her father sharply.

"I really can't tell you, Dad. I'm sorry… can you please just… help me out here?"

"Not unless I know what you have gotten yourself into this time! Answer me: _are you_ working for Fudge, or not?"

" _I can't tell you!"_ Lucy repeated stubbornly. "Ask him, if you have to. Or you can find it out yourself, if you have an ounce of sense."

Her father slowly rose from his chair. "You will not speak to me in that tone," he said harshly. His forefinger was pointing at her, and behind him, the curtains flickered softly in some unseen breeze.

Lucy almost jumped at the low, menacing growl that sprang from around her elbow. For a fleeting second, she had no idea what it even was; but then, her father lowered his hand, and sighed in exasperation.

"Merlin's beard," he sighed, "what on _Earth_ is that thing again?"

"Ah, him." Lucy squinted at the giant black dog. "This is Fluffy, at your service. He's a very good boy, now aren't you, Fluffy?"

"Fluffy" turned his head slowly back to her, the promise of brutal retaliation settling in his eyes.

"No offense," said John Dawlish in a tone that was _offense_ itself, "but what _exactly_ is that thing?"

"Fluffy? Oh, well… he's the fruit of an unlucky union between a Crup and an Irish Wolfhound. Don't ask me about the anatomy, it _happened_. See, he turned out a bit too wild and _intelligent_ for a normal dog, so he was thrown out. Same old, same old. Happens to people all the time." Lucy smiled sweetly. "Don't worry, he won't _attack_ unless I say so. Which might be another convincing factor for you to finally pick up your quill and fill that questioning order."

But John Dawlish shook his head. "This is… this is not how things are done, Lucy," he said with a short, awkward laugh. His eyes were not laughing, though. "You haven't answered my letters for _years_ … I wrote you a million times… and now you're here, completely out of the blue, because you _need_ something from me." He clicked his tongue. "And you're expecting me to comply, to _trust you_ , without any idea of where you have been these past years… of what you have done… of who you are now… Yesterday, when I learned about the links between you and Dumbledore, I was so _angry_ and I feared for you… you know nothing about Dumbledore… if that man is crazy, than _I_ am a reincarnation of Merlin. No. He knows exactly what he is doing, but _you_ do not. He is using you. I don't care if you hate me or disobey me, but _I don't want you to be used_."

" _What?"_ Lucy whispered, completely dumbfounded. "Are you saying that you… that you _believe_ Dumbledore?"

"I am saying that he is not crazy." Her father was looking at her very seriously. "Sadly, I can no longer teach you (not that you've ever listened, of course), but I'll tell you this: if you want to keep playing your little games, you need to stop thinking in absolutes. Blacks and whites… truth and lies… friends and enemies… Ministry men and Death Eaters." His eyes hardened. "The intersections of those sets are wider than you think. Which is why I prefer having the scandal of the century to leaving you in the hands of people who pull you on their strings."

Lucy wetted her lip. _That_ was a flawless act of a Concerned Father right there. Things were getting interesting…

"Dad," she said softly, "this is easier than you think. If you don't help me, Dumbledore will get me before Fudge does, and he'll erase my memories. Important memories. And I'm not here to… to blackmail you into that, or anything, it's just that if I went directly into the office, Mr Crouch would have probably been there, wagging his tongue about how I've grown and stuff, and I thought…"

"Barty is dead," her father quipped.

" _Excuse me, what?"_

"I've found his body in an advanced stage of decomposition on the grounds of Hogwarts castle," said her father coldly. "Now, do you need another reminder to be careful with Albus Dumbledore?"

"You cannot think…" Lucy stuttered, "that Dumbledore…"

"You told me moments ago that he was, I quote, _nuts."_ Her father raised an eyebrow. "You also told me that you were employed by a certain Ragnuk, still you keep talking about _Fudge._ Would you shed a light on all that?"

Lucy suddenly wished she was alone in the room so she could smash all the furniture into the wall. She knew that she was being cornered – and now that her father had found a grip on her, he would not let go. He was still a legendary Auror, after all…

 _Sometimes,_ said the echo of a deep voice in her head – this time Bane's, not Ronan's – _the best way of defence is an underhanded attack_.

"Is it true, then?" She said simply, raising her eyes to meet his. "Is You-Know-Who alive, and all?"

"He is." John Dawlish crossed his arms and leaned against his desk. "There are reports. I do not believe that he has regained his powers as Dumbledore claims, but it is fairly plausible that he should operate through a small group of former Death Eaters… or the entire rumour might be just that – a rumour. We do not know, but that doesn't mean that we do not investigate."

"But Fudge…"

"Fudge categorically refuses to believe anything that means the slightest threat to his seat as Minister for Magic, and there I have been as honest with you as I shall ever be," said her father curtly. "The current narrative of the Ministry is that Voldemort is dead, and Dumbledore is crazy, so I, as a Ministry official, shall advocate that. It certainly would not hurt to see Dumbledore's powers reduced by a shade." He pursed his lips. "I don't think I should explain to you _why_ it would not be a good idea to have the public believe that the most dangerous dark wizard of our century is restored in his former power, until we are not entirely sure."

"There would be panic," Lucy said slowly, "and he would know that _you know_ … and it would be more difficult to track him down…"

"Exactly."

"But Dad, _are you_ tracking him down?"

"Am I?" John Dawlish laughed shortly. "Lucy, I am _an Auror,_ employed by the Ministry of Magic. I do my job, and in the meantime, I keep my eyes open. There are certain… _happenings…_ showing unknown forces at work. It could be Voldemort, or it could be anyone else. I know for certain that Dumbledore's intentions are not harmful, at least not in the way as the hypothetical Voldemort's would be – power is not what he wants, but he won't be satisfied by sitting idly in a corner, either. I have no idea what Dumbledore truly wants, and that frustrates me; also, I generally refuse to support his libertine (and that is a soft word) approach to the execution of law. I've heard things… do you know, for example, that he'd employed a known werewolf _at his school?"_

"And Fudge employed Bertha Jorkins," said Lucy through her teeth.

"Indeed. Well, no one is perfect."

Lucy stared at her father, eyes wide as plates. "You're joking… Dad, you're _capable_ of joking?!"

She did not know what to make of the sudden flash of pain in his eyes. "We're running out of time, and you still refuse to tell me what is it that you are hiding."

Lucy frowned as a new idea crossed her mind. It was not to her liking – far from it – but it meant a compromise.

"As I said before, I really can't tell you. I can, however, tell it to the one who leads the questioning."

Her father eyed her suddenly, rigidly, and Lucy felt the tentative pressure of his intruding presence at the edge of her consciousness. She suppressed her resentment and let him in, showing a few flashes that crossed her mind – Charlie talking about the Norwegian Ridgeback he was working with; her fixing Hagrid's tie before he went to Buckbeak's hearing last year; Snape telling her she was about to fail her OWL-s if she kept blowing up her cauldrons all the time; a colourful mosque in Turkey…

… _her being surrounded by Dementors as she sidles through the gates of Hogwarts in the light of the full moon…_

… _her braiding flowers into Ronan's hair so he would look like a red-haired Robert Plant…_

… _Mizzet gliding through summer skies in who-knows-which country; and her holding onto his spikes, drinking in the scent of freedom and wind as they fly over rivers and hills…_

… _Arcturus, no, SIRIUS kissing her hotly in the downlit lounge, his hand sliding under her dress and his lips tracing wet circles on her neck…_

 _Occlude!_

"…would you like to see the rest, or are you finally convinced that I don't want to murder you?" Lucy quipped, genuinely embarrassed for once.

"No… thank you, that would do," said her father with a very straight face. Then, he sighed. "If I asked you who that man was… and how sincere his _intentions_ were with you…"

Lucy snorted.

"…and if I were to give you my opinion on that…"

"Tempting, but no."

Her father shook his head, and for a few moments, he seemed terribly tired. "All right…" He said, as one who came to a long-awaited conclusion. "All right," he repeated. "I might regret this later, but it is the only satisfactory option. I will fill that sodding order."

"Did you just say _sodding?"_

"I will say worse: we are going to _fake this."_

"What?!"

"Why do you make me repeat everything today? Here," John Dawlish waved his wand, and another chair appeared in front of the desk. "You'll write me a list of questions that will get the necessary information out of you. I'll rehearse them. When you'll drink the Veritaserum, I'll ask them all, and you'll answer, but nothing else. It _does_ follow the protocol," he said, as if trying to convince himself.

"Dad…" Lucy was utterly confused. "Why…"

"Fudge's Undersecretary may be with him," said her father darkly. "I am not taking any risks around that woman. You will understand." He knocked lightly on the table. "Now set to work. Quick. I still have three meetings today."

* * *

"You see, John," said Cornelius Fudge measuredly, "this is not precisely how I've envisioned this."

They were sitting around the coffee table in the Minister's Parlour; Fudge had settled comfortably in his armchair while Lucy and her father had occupied the sofa. Black was lying stretched near Lucy's legs, giving a perfect show of a sleepy, slightly bored dog. As much as she hated to admit it, Lucy was glad he'd come. It had always been just her alone against everyone and everything in her father's world – now, at least, someone had her back.

"And you, Miss Dawlish!" The Minister shook his head mournfully. "Most embarrassing turn of events, _most embarrassing_. Please believe me, if I knew about Dumbledore's folly, I would have never offered you this position."

"It's quite alright," said Lucy calmly. "As long as you let me keep this job. _Minister,"_ she added quickly, feeling her father's displeased gaze on herself. "I like it. I think I'm good at it. I want to go through. Also," she added tactfully, "it wouldn't hurt to keep one of your employees close to Dumbledore, would it?"

"Precisely," said Fudge with a small smile. "Well, Miss Dawlish, it is true that the Goblins are pleased with you. You seem to be getting on well with them, which is a rare feat."

Lucy had never seen even the smallest of gests from Ragnuk or Griphook that indicated that they were _pleased_ with her. Quite the contrary… although Bill had once told her something about Goblins placing extreme weights on the employees they found worthy or promising; and Bill knew much more about Goblins than she…

"Is that a yes, Minister?"

"We will see," Fudge closed his eyes for a moment. "Your father shall lead the questioning. My Undersecretary and myself will listen. I do not believe you've had the chance to meet her yet – ah, and _at the moment we speak_ …"

The large, two-winged door opened behind them, and in came a woman who, according to Lucy, simply _could not be real._ She was short and squat, plump body bundled into a slinky green dress. That, the little neck, the broad, flabby face and the black velvet bow sitting at the top of her artfully combed chignon gave the overall appearance of a skulking toad. Lucy had to implement three of Ronan's breathing techniques to avoid laughing out loud at the sight of her. Black, however, seemed to be not _amused,_ but rather generally alarmed by her appearance; he raised his head from the floor, ears perked high, every muscle tense.

The woman stopped short in the doorway, and let out a tiny, girlish squall.

"Cornelius! Who let that _dog_ inside the department?!"

"He's mine," said Lucy quickly, with the slightest tremor of laughter in her voice. "Don't worry, Madam, he doesn't bite…"

John Dawlish cleared his throat. "I believe that a few introductions are in order. Madam Umbridge, this is my daughter, Lucy. Lucy, this is Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister."

"Pleasure," said Lucy, and she extended her hand. Umbridge didn't take it, though; she shot another hostile glance at Black's sprawled figure, then only nodded.

"Is this the case you have been informing me on, Cornelius?" She asked dismissively. Her voice was breathy and high-pitched, and it made the hairs on the back of Lucy's neck stand up. Under her robe, her scars started pulsing with pain again.

"Indeed, indeed," Fudge waved his hand awkwardly. "Shall we, ah, _proceed,_ then?"

"The tea will be here in a moment," said Umbridge sweetly. "I will see to it."

"I'll drink the serum with _tea?"_ Lucy raised an eyebrow. "That's nice."

"Of course, sweetheart. We shall do our best to make this conversation pleasant." Umbridge smiled at her. "I'm sure it will feel _great_ to get all those secrets out of you. You must have seen _nasty_ things around Dumbledore, my dear."

 _Not half as nasty as you,_ Lucy thought as the older woman disappeared in the adjoining room to get the serum. She somehow doubted that Umbridge's reassurance had sprung from honest sentiment.

The perfect moment came when Fudge walked over to the window, gazing mournfully out to the enchanted view of Tower Bridge below. Lucy's father sat tensely next to her, looking at his own joined hands in his lap; in was almost too easy to whisper _Confundo,_ and watch as his gaze became unfocused for a few moments. Said few moments were perfectly enough for Lucy to pluck a small, grey stone out of her pocket, and slide it under her tongue.

"This is gonna be fun," she whispered to Black, still sprawled on the floor, albeit suddenly very tense. "You watch."

* * *

Potions was, as Lucy had the occasion to learn under the critical eye of Severus Snape, an art of shades and nuances; a terrain for adventure; a shaky, distant dimension of strange occurrences and experimental imperfections. Which is why it was impossible to learn from a textbook.

Veritaserum had given her many sleepless nights when she'd learned about its existence at Hogwarts – she would sometimes wake up before dawn, drenched with sweat. In her dreams, Snape had forced her to drink the potion and cry all her secrets out loud in front of the entire school. The dream had recurred for years, and although Lucy had learned to laugh at the idea, she never forgot it. She had studied Veritaserum for years, dissecting it, analysing its brewing method, testing it on volunteers and enemies alike. It was possible to fight or lessen its effects; it was possible to trick it with half-truths and subjectivity; there was, however, no way to nullify its effects completely.

At least, not until she had found it.

If one wanted to counteract a potion, they had, first and foremost, to understand how it worked; and the mechanism of the ultimate truth serum was almost laughably easy, once you understood it. It only took a cryptic counsel from Bane, a pilgrimage to Ireland, a small theft and a couple of wicked charms; and there she was, protected, _in all her vengeful glory_ as Black had put it. Oh, she would enjoy this.

Umbridge's tea was sweeter than the chocolate Remus had made her on the night of Halloween; and considering that he had melted an entire packet of marshmallows into it, that was saying something. It was also lukewarm; and faintly, it crossed Lucy's mind that Snape would consider the present situation as a disgrace to the use of his lore.

"I am sure you're ready now, dear!" Umbridge smiled appallingly at her when her cup was half emptied. Lucy did not fall into the trap of answering; there had been no questions asked, after all. She knew more about Veritaserum than most people who brew it for a living - she felt more than able to simulate its effects. She let her eyes become unfocused; the three faces blurred comfortingly before her as she channelled all her wit and consciousness into her brain.

 _Yes._ This was _brainwork._

She had tamed dragons. She had parleyed with a vampire. She had dwelled with a herd of Centaurs for an entire summer. She could do this.

"I believe we could get to the questioning, John," said Fudge somewhere far away.

"All right," replied her father's voice, uncharacteristically thick with concern. "First – your name?"

"Lucy Dawlish."

"What day is it?"

"Wednesday. Twelfth of July. Nineteen-ninety-five."

"Good. Now first – how did you come into Albus Dumbledore's employ?"

Lucy raised her empty gaze to her father, opened her mouth, and let the flow of lies come out. It was thrilling, really – the questions came one by one and clashed against the gates of her conscience, like sellswords seeking to plunder a besieged castle. Some questions recurred, some were missing, and some were emphasized; yet Lucy Dawlish answered them all; her voice flat and relentless, her face a rigid mask, betraying nothing about the mad race of thought and calculation in the shelter of her skull.

Stroke by stoke, she painted the picture of a naïve young woman who thought she was _so intelligent,_ and _so much in control;_ who was not quite loyal to anybody but the fat packs of gold sent every month by her Goblin patrons; who was deadly afraid of You-Know-Who, and _no, oh no, he couldn't have come back, that's simply impossible;_ who entertained peaceful ideals about a symbiotic life involving wizardkind and magical creatures; and who would be quite ready to inform the Minister for Magic about any bizarre thing Dumbledore did, thank you very much. The illusion was so flawless she almost started to believe it herself; and she suspected that the only reason why Black didn't interfere were the obvious lies she'd told about their mission and its outcome.

When her father was done, Umbridge and Fudge asked her a couple of small questions, and they all seemed very pleased with the outcome. Then suddenly, out of the blue, Umbridge asked her:

"Do you know Rubeus Hagrid, the groundkeeper of Hogwarts?"

"I do," Lucy said as flatly as she could manage. "Nice guy, if a bit thick. Brews his own tea which is quite decent, but his cookies are terrible."

"Very nice, dear," Umbridge piped, in a tone that made her want to cast Silencing Charms on the entire neighbourhood. "Now, do you know anything about the Hippogriff that was sentenced to death last year at Hogwarts castle?"

"No," said Lucy immediately. Her entire brain screamed _danger;_ Buckbeak was a highway to the information concerning Sirius and Remus. Buckbeak was _taboo_.

Umbridge looked disappointed. "Maybe you've only forgotten, dear," she said. "There was a certain animal named Buckbiff… or something like that… it attacked a student last year, and a very nasty affair followed… since you are a Magical Creatures expert yourself, Dumbledore might have asked for your opinion… doesn't it ring a bell?"

"No," said Lucy, remembering a study about the detrimental effect of truth serums on the consumer's ability to use figurative language. "Hippogriffs don't ring bells."

Umbridge pursed her lips. "I believe we are done, then."

"We are." Fudge graced Lucy with a full view of his stage smile. "I am very pleased with your findings, Miss Dawlish. You might not be in the state of mind to appreciate this, but I look forward to working with you in the future. You shall receive the antidote shortly – your father will see to it." He suddenly seemed to be in a generous mood; when he stood, he extended his arm to help up her secretary as well. "New dress, Dolores?" He said absently.

"Oh? Yes," Umbridge chirped. "Delivered straight from Malkin's yesterday. Isn't it comely?"

"It makes you look like a fat frog, actually," said Lucy, before the possible outcome of her words could even settle in her mind. "Especially with the bow. It's what someone's maiden aunt would wear, really. I wonder how you fit in it, by the way – is it a house-elf that does the trick? Like, it awaits next to your bed in the morning, prepares the set of chains and pulleys and forces you into it… Merlin, it must have _a biceps_ …"

Her father visibly froze, and Umbridge's eyes became wide like plates. For a long moment, no one moved; then Cornelius Fudge bent his back as he was caught by a sudden – and most unlucky – fit of coughing.

"N-now, n-now, Dolores," he said shakily, "don't stare like that. The young lady is confused, that is all… yes, _very confused…_ you never know with these potions… she doesn't even mean it, now, do you, Miss Dawlish?"

"I absolutely mean it," said Lucy blankly, and she let the warmth of utter delight spread in her chest. "You made me drink a truth serum. I tell you the truth." She blinked. "Madam, you look so hurt, what is it? Has no one told you before that you looked like someone's maiden aunt? Oh, holy shit, _are you_ someone's maiden aunt?"

Fudge waved his hands uselessly. "John – John, _do something."_

"Stop asking her questions," said John Dawlish with a face of marble. "She will feel obliged to answer until she takes the antidote. I…" He let out a discreet cough and looked seriously at Umbridge. "I would like you to remember that Veritaserum makes consumers reveal what they _perceive_ to be true; which is to say, Madam Umbridge, that just because my daughter told certain things about your appearance, well, that doesn't mean that they are impartially _true."_

At that, he eyed Fudge for a moment, and both their faces twitched.

"I know, John, and thank you," said Umbridge in a sickeningly sweet, girlish tone. "Poor dear… of course, not everyone can have taste. I'm sure we will forget this little incident in no time."

With that, she left the room, but Lucy caught the last glance she'd thrown at her – a glance that promised that _nothing_ would be forgotten over the span of the next decade, at least.

* * *

The door of the office closed behind them with a soft _clank,_ and Lucy was helped to her father's chair. Outside, the approaching sunset draped the skies in spectacular oranges and yellows, and the shadows lengthened among the dusty furniture.

"Wait here until I get the antidote," said her father curtly. It was perfectly reasonable that he should go and get it with his own hands – a misplaced Summoning Charm could have broken it, or worse. Still, something was not all right… he was so tense…

Lucy was suddenly lifted on her feet. It was Black – she had almost forgotten about him, really. Something must have gone amiss in his head, though, because he had transformed back into a man, and he was grinning wildly at her.

"That was…" He shook his head, searching for words. "That was simply wonderful. _Spectacular._ So-so-so satisfying. Especially the part about the maiden aunt. I haven't felt this happy since I broke outta jail. _Thank you_."

"No… I think I fucked up…"

"Nah, you didn't. Holy shit, that was… that was _awesome._ I'm deeply impressed. Smitten, even. Siriusly, I'm your fan."

Lucy rolled her eyes at the terrible joke. "No, you don't understand… my Dad… I think he found out…"

Black held the sides of her face and kissed her hotly. "You think too much, princess."

With an amount of heroism, Lucy resisted the temptation to kiss him back. "You had no permission to do that."

"Is that how things go now? _Permissions?"_ Black raised an eyebrow. "Well, as long as I get shagging orders for Christmas, it's fine with me."

"I don't shag men who take orders," Lucy quipped. "And now listen to me, because we've got a prob…"

Fortunately, her father re-entered the room back on – so she had the time to shove Black behind the nearest cupboard.

 _Come on,_ she fumed inwardly. _This is a very stupid way to get caught_.

Then, her father turned around to look at her, and Lucy froze at the extent of open rage she saw in his eyes.

"So is that how we stand now?" John Dawlish closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, his wand was pointing at her heart. "Of course you would do it again. People never change. I was a fool to trust you… not that I truly did, of course…"

" _Dad…?"_

"How did you think this would go, Lucy?" He sighed. "You did well enough, for sure… but the risk was too great… there were so many pits you could fall in, and eventually, you did…"

"W-what are you talking about?" Lucy stammered. She could feel the subtle pulse of fear in her veins; it made her scars hurt again.

"The information you told Umbridge about Buckbeak is not identical to the one I have seen in your head. You knew about that Hippogriff, which leaves us with only one possible explanation – that you have faked the entire questioning." Her father's face was ghastly pale. "That… that is a call for trial, Lucy. I'm sorry… but I think _you_ are not."

"Dad – dad, wait…" She swallowed hard. "I can explain…"

"I'm not falling for that again. I'm sorry."

" _Imperio!"_

Lucy's breath hitched in her throat, sudden and hard. She had only heard about _that spell,_ she'd never seen it done, _she had never seen anyone do it in her entire life,_ how was she even supposed to fight it?!

The feeling she got, however, was simply… _nothing._ Three full seconds passed before she noticed that her father, on the other hand, was standing rigid and motionless like a statue, completely unshaken by the fact that Sirius Black emerged from behind the cupboard, turned him around by the shoulder, and pushed him down into his chair.

Lucy felt her hands tighten into fists.

" _You…"_

"Come on," said Black, voice calm and quiet as a mountain lake. "We don't have much time. He might have launched an alert."

" _You put the Imperius on my Dad!"_

"Yeah, yeah, save the fireworks for later. We've gotta go…"

"I'm not going anywhere with you! _You put the fucking Imperius…"_

"Can you scream _Imperius_ a little louder please, so we can get neighbouring cells?!" Black yelled at her. "I had no choice, okay?"

"You were behind his back… you could have Disarmed him…"

"Yeah, he totally wouldn't have cried for help…"

"Then Stupefied him…"

"…in which case he'd have fallen flat and started an alarm – and we'd have been seized before you could've said _maiden aunt._ I've been an Auror once, okay? Like your Dad. We even worked together, if you must know. I know how things are done here."

Lucy's brain was still processing that particular information. "But the Imperius… it's an Unforgivable…"

"I don't need anyone's forgiveness," said Black icily. "Now… come on, Floo through. At least you. Your Dad's fireplace should work. Address is Maulden 7, Godric's Hollow. Maulden. Just like that."

They were staring at each other for three silent seconds.

"Trust me," said Black, almost softly. _"Please."_

Lucy closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"I must be completely crazy," she observed. Then, she turned to her father's laconic figure in the chair, and muttered _Obliviate_.

 _(to be continued)_

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

"White Oaks" is the magical community's name for Islington in my little HP universe. I may (or may not) dwell more on that later.

I have an exact concept about Lucy's "antidote" to Veritaserum, which will be fully explained later – either in the following chapter, or in an eventual sequel. We'll see.

Thank you so much for the views and comments, I'm very happy about them!


	14. Maulden's Edge

_**Dear Guest: Thank you! :) I hope you'll enjoy the rest!**_

* * *

 **Chapter 14 – Maulden's Edge**

Lucy stumbled out of a surprisingly narrow fireplace, covering a Persian rug in a thin layer of ash. Suddenly self-conscious, she made a show of coughing as elegantly and discreetly as she could – skilled as she'd gotten at handling Portkeys, she had somehow never learned to travel by Floo without making a fool of herself.

She still did better than Black, though; a few moments later, the flames lengthened, the fire stirred in the hearth again, and the tall man slammed his head hard into the marble inlay as he came through.

"Ow! _Motherfucker…"_

Lucy couldn't suppress her laugh. "That's you…"

"I'm glad I could provide today's entertainment, princess," he bit back. "Your dad is okay, by the way. He'll remember nothing weird about the questioning… I took off the curse, and all."

"But did he _see_ you?"

"He won't connect the dots. Don't worry – you'll have your job."

"That's not what I was thinking about!" Lucy snapped, although she wasn't even sure what had issued such irritation in her. "If anyone saw you, they'll follow… look, I didn't stitch you all up to see you thrown back into your cell!"

"I'll be _very careful,_ then," said Black theatrically. Something softened in his eyes, as if he was fighting a smile, but Lucy ignored it.

"…where are we, anyway?"

"Dumbledore's. I couldn't think of anywhere else we'd be safe."

Lucy frowned. "And won't he get… I don't know… _pissed off_ … that we just…"

"Have you ever seen Albus Dumbledore _pissed off?"_

"No…" Lucy grinned. "Point taken. You think he has something to eat?"

"Let's find out."

* * *

Dumbledore's house was _huge_ , and just as strange and mazy as one might expect. Thankfully, though, Black seemed to know his way around, so they reached the kitchen without any major setbacks – although one of the candle-holders decided that it would be a very good idea to set the hem of Lucy's blouse on fire. It took several well-placed shoves from Black to make it reconsider.

The kitchen was low-pitched and cosy, with rubble walls that embraced in a small, crumped arch over another fireplace. The cupboards were loaded with strange-smelling herbs and artfully shaped vials, and the back wall was almost entirely covered in a montage of calendars in various languages. The very first detail to catch Lucy's attention, however, was the heavenly smell oozing from the pile of pizza boxes on the table. Stepping closer, she noticed a message on top. It read:

 _Dear Lucy and Sirius,_

 _I hope your endeavour was successful._

 _You might be relieved to hear that Remus and Mundungus are quite all right and safe, and they will soon be joining you. In two days, the Order gathers in my home, and many things shall be explained. Please remain within the property; and during your stay, help yourselves to everything my humble home has to offer._

 _Yours truly,_

 _Albus Dumbledore_

 _P.S.: Do leave a slice or two of the Hawaii pizza. It is my favourite._

"What a man," said Black fondly.

Lucy shook her head. "I can't imagine Dumbledore ordering pizza. _What the hell, really…?_ How could he even know we were going to come here…?"

"That's just him – he knows things." Black shrugged, then with an effort, he tore his eyes away from the boxes. "Now… before we eat all that twice, I will fix your back."

Lucy tensed. "It's… it's all right."

"Absolutely not. It was bleeding again…"

"And it stopped. A shower will take it away."

"Nah, I'll fix it. Promise I won't get naughty, and all."

Lucy rolled her eyes; then, admitting defeat, she turned her back on the tall man and let him help her out of her blouse. To Black's credit, he _did_ restrain himself from "getting naughty" – he must have used some new spell, though, because even if his hands were warm, Lucy was getting goose-bumps all over from their touch.

"So… how awful it is?" She muttered.

"Ten-something red lines running down to your shoulder-blades. In a few months, they're going to be silver. I've seen uglier tattoos."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Don't worry… you're still a solid eight."

"Fuck off," said Lucy, but she suddenly felt much lighter.

"See?" Black sighed as he pulled the layers of cloth black on her. "That's why we, men don't play nice anymore. You heroically rescue a princess, and all you get is a _fuck off_ …"

" _Faux,"_ said Lucy and she proceeded to open the nearest box of pizza. "You men always tell us to be _direct._ Now there I was, explicit as you please, and all I get is a tirade on playing nice. Oh, and _I don't fit in scales."_

Black laughed at that, but they ate in silence, which was made somewhat uncomfortable by the whirlwind of thought Lucy could sense racing through the surface of his mind. The temptation to _look_ was hard to resist; but she doubted very much that he would appreciate an attempt.

When he finally spoke, though, his voice was low and thoughtful.

"The way you've handled Remus… it was very nice of you."

"It wasn't his fault," said Lucy automatically. "I was an idiot… I didn't think… things like that just _happen_ around a werewolf, I guess. Thankfully, you were there… Look, I don't want Remus to know about this. Ever. I think he'd never stop blaming himself."

"Well," said Black cautiously, "he told me that if I had to choose between letting him lacerate someone limb by limb versus letting him bump your elbow, he'd prefer the former…"

Lucy snorted. "How darkly dramatic. He must've been reading Coleridge again."

"…so – you're quite close," Black tried, "aren't you…?"

Lucy took a small bite of pizza, studied the rest of the slice, then placed it back into the box. "You want to know if I've… oh, how would Dad put it?" She snapped her fingers. "Oh, yeah! …so, _gotten intimate_ with him."

"That wasn't what I…" Black swallowed the end of the sentence, then sighed. "Okay, so _have you or not?"_

"…which is important, _because…?_ "

"Because – because he's _Remus,"_ Black barked. "The guy I've known since I was a kid. So – have you…?"

"No, I haven't."

"And would you…?"

Lucy tilted her head. "I don't know," she said truthfully. "I think I like him too much for that. I mean – genuinely _like him._ As a person. See, I don't… I try not to shag people I care for."

She could have sworn she'd seen the shadow of a smile on his face. "Why?"

"Because… because men often have these… _preconceptions,_ that we will do this and that, and everything will be nice and dandy. And _then,_ usually, something happens. I get a new job… someone offers me a trip to Sri Lanka, or Australia, or Greenland or whatever… and I go. I _always_ go. Now, men usually don't like that – which is perfectly understandable if you want to settle down, have kids, that kind of thing. But… guess I'm not exactly the right material for that." She let a sardonic smile creep on her face. "Which is why I prefer adventurers… and roadside inns… and free drinks."

"…so, in other words, you really _are_ a Veela," Black declared. "You come and go as you please, and step over the ruins."

"Now-now," said Lucy gently, "I feel obliged to repeat myself: _fuck off."_

* * *

Godric's Hollow was a small, cosy town in a wide valley, somewhere between Bristol and Salisbury. Slumped over it was a thick line of greenery that ran across the surrounding hills. The scenery in itself was perhaps not what one would call _comely_ – some hills were more like heaps of dirt, the surrounding woods were scrawny and treacherous, and the overhanging cliffs at Maulden's Edge looked somewhat like crooked teeth – but the town itself was homely and inviting. In happier years, Sirius had always been enticed by the church-bells' toll; it had sounded like a call home.

It was close to nightfall, and he was watching the fiery plate of the Sun disappearing behind the church-tower. At first, it only slid under the iron cross on top; it hurt his eyes, but he kept staring rigidly at it. He gritted his teeth and fought some masochistic urge to lower his gaze to the gates, and the graveyard beyond.

When he finally _did,_ he could only see the blurred negative of the cross, painted in purple and green-ish hues of pain. He had been staring for too long. Maybe he should carve his eyes out now – then, at least, he wouldn't have to _look_ ever again.

"I knew you would be here."

He winced as Remus placed a hand on his shoulder and lowered himself to sit beside him. There was still a little bit of _Moony_ in the way he moved, the way his fingers dug into the fabric of his shirt.

"How rash. _I_ didn't even know I would be here."

Remus clicked his tongue. "I really don't have the mind to play smart with you right now."

"Then don't."

Remus watched as a pair of pigeons glided across the valley beneath them and settled above the church-gate. "You're not going to help old Moony here, are you?"

Sirius felt a flash of unfocused anger. "What do you _want?_ "

"I feel like we need to talk," said Remus cautiously. Sirius turned his head to look at him and he flinched; his gaze was that of some startled woodland creature that had decided to _trust_ against its nature, but it did not _dare_ yet.

"I…" Remus opened his mouth, then shut it, searching for words. "I wrote you letters since Christmas. A dozen, or more."

"Yeah."

"You never answered. Not even on the back of the paper, or something."

"I had nothing to say."

" _Nothing?"_ Remus's voice had an edge to it. "We've never talked about… We haven't even… I've barely found out the truth, and then… if I've had enough sense to take that potion in time, you'd already be a free man! _Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?_ Everything could have happened otherwise… Wormtail wouldn't have gotten back to Voldemort, _he_ wouldn't have come back, Dumbledore wouldn't be harassed by the Ministry right now as we speak, and… and…"

"I'd fancy a language without the word _if,"_ said Sirius lightly. He threw a handful of pebbles down the hillside and watched as they disappeared amongst the shadows of the woods. "Imagine how much useless blabber we'd spare."

Remus let out a ragged breath. "Merlin, you must _despise_ me."

"Even if I did, you would only be a small fish in an ocean of things I despise."

"You…" Remus looked helpless. "You don't speak like yourself anymore."

"Like _myself?"_ Sirius said dangerously. Something flared in his chest, then it died out.

"Yeah. Like… like Pads…" Remus was still holding his shoulder. Now squeezing, _hard._ It hurt. "I know Pads is somewhere _in there,_ and I'm going to dig him out."

"You can start down there," Sirius pointed at the graveyard.

All at once, the world became filled with tremor and tension; his arm was trembling, and so was Remus's.

" _No,"_ he whispered. "You're not _there._ You are right here with me. Alive. At your senses. Well… all right, we could argue if you've ever _had_ those. But… things will get better from now on. You'll see. Dumbledore will protect us all… and we'll kick Voldemort's ass…"

Sirius snorted. "Yeah, of course… and then we'll fly away in the sunset on our winged pink unicorns. Hah-hah. No. You think I'm stupid, or something? There is only one reason I'm here and let myself be ordered around by Dumbledore, and I think you know what that is."

With that, he raised his head and eyed Remus, gaze suddenly piercing; and they gave their answers in unison.

"James," said Remus.

"Harry," said Sirius.

"Oh…"

"James is down there, if you remember." Sirius pointed. "Because of me. There is absolutely no fucking way I'd let _Harry…"_

"Stop that!" Remus snapped. "Look at me. No – _look;_ and repeat it after ol' Moony like an invalid _– it – wasn't – my – effing – fault!"_

For a moment, Sirius felt like slapping him – the flame of his anger smouldered, then hissed, then died out. "Well," he said cautiously, "it wasn't yours, either. Not even the werewolf thing. I – I talked too much."

"All right," said Remus, with gentle exasperation, "then we will repeat it once again, together. Clear articulation. Deep breathing. _It – wasn't – my – effing…"_

"Okay, okay," said Sirius. "Then it wasn't. But there is one thing you should not forget… I may not be a murderer today; but I _will_ become one as soon as I set eye on that rat again."

"Well," said Remus coldly, "that makes two of us."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Moony…"

"No – no, I'll always have your back from now on, got it? Whether you want it or not. I probably wouldn't want any of my help if I were you, and I'd despise the mere thought of me, and…"

Sirius slid his arms around him and hugged him tight.

Not that he _wanted to,_ of course – but at least that would shut him up.

* * *

Lucy had to launch into the methodological explanation for the third time that evening.

"It's from a stone in Ireland. From Blarney Castle – even Muggles know the place. There are many legends explaining the origins of that stone, and one comes from the Centaurs. They claim that Merlin had dwelled with their people for a year to learn their lore. When he left, it was to help some Gaelic warlock against the menace of a dark wizard… the man had a funny name, I've forgotten… anyway, Merlin enchanted the foot-stone of the warlock's castle to give great rhetorical powers to anyone who kissed it. Then, the warlock challenged the dark wizard in a duel, and the stone gave him such a gift with words that he kept creating spells on the spot – spells that his opponent had never seen, therefore, he was defeated. This is how the legend goes according to Ronan; we'll never know how the stone _really_ got there, of course, but it _is_ there, and it has a nice stuffed line of Muggle visitors every day. Took me a whole day to steal a morsel of it."

"And thus, all these people emerge from the castle's lair as orators begging for renown?" Dumbledore inquired, interest lighting up in his sky-blue eyes. He was listening just as intently as Remus and Sirius had – them, and the portrait of a lanky wizard in the corridor.

Lucy couldn't contain her grin. "No, Headmaster – and that is one of the reasons why I believe it _really_ has something to do with Centaur magic. The stone bears the traces of an extremely powerful enchantment and is still loaded with it to this day, but the source of its magic is invisible, untraceable… and capricious, I would say. It comes and goes, and it doesn't work for everyone. Also…" Lucy frowned slightly. "I think there must be something to this story because it is so… _singular_. Wizards seldom appear in a positive light in Centaur lore… usually, where we have Merlin, they have Chiron. Also, _Chiron,_ for them, is not a person, just a word they use for _Wise_ …"

"Oh," said Dumbledore lightly, "now _that_ explains a great many things."

"Yes… so finally, I stole a piece of that stone – or one might rather say that _I asked it to honour me with its gift._ That is how Centaur magic works… many useless detours and logical jumps… I was fairly pleased with myself when it worked, and in a few days, I also managed to learn how to use the stone. Whenever it touched my lips, I became as silver-tongued as Gilderoy Lockhart…"

"Or more, I would hope," Dumbledore remarked. There was a subtle edge to his voice, and Lucy did not know what to make of it. "What did you do afterwards, Ms Dawlish? Eloquence in itself offers no protection against the power of Veritaserum."

"Well," said Lucy, not without pride, "there comes the trick. I needed the stone not only because of its capacities, but also to serve as a point of focus for my magic. I discovered that while it enabled me to speak freely in phrases and concepts that would have otherwise taken hours for my mind to construct, it also altered my brain. Under its effects, I could think clearly… like, _completely_ clearly… it felt like having control on all my memories, thoughts and impressions at once. I was able to look at them from a distance, to analyse and regroup them, all while speaking about something else. This is how I faked the questioning, you see. I didn't have to think about stories beforehand, the stone did all the job instead of me."

Dumbledore nodded.

"…however, what truly makes the user of this stone able to resist Veritaserum is a combination of three Charms. The first one is a basic Containment Charm, the second one is _Reverso_ … and the third one _Fidelius_ , in which the stone itself serves as… well, you cannot really call it a _Secret Keeper._ The stone is an inanimate object; I skipped the part about hiding my secrets – that is to say, my true thoughts and memories – in its _heart_ in the incantation, and I made the Fidelius temporary. It must break as soon as the stone leaves my mouth, or else I'd be obliged to tell nothing but lies for the rest of my life. As for how it works… well, it alters the same areas in your brain as Veritaserum, but it is far more powerful. The two opposing forces leave you with a terrible headache afterwards, though. I haven't yet found out how to appease that – it's not that I use the stone every day."

" _Ingenious,"_ Dumbledore breathed. "What do you think would happen if one were to cast the same spell combination on, let's say, a Pensieve?"

Lucy's breath hitched; the range of possibilities was so wide and so intriguing that she didn't even know how to start thinking about them.

"Well," she said cautiously, "that would triple the number of possible errors… at least. I think the results would depend mostly on the aspect – or aspects – of the enchantments you'd want to reinforce. The safest solution would be to make everything temporary so you would be able to change the direction of your spells later… for example, the charms on my stone are sealed. Hard. They're not unbreakable, of course, but the process might even take you an _hour_."

"Don't flatter an old man too much," Dumbledore laughed, then suddenly, his voice became serious. "My first thought is that such a combination of charms would make it possible to alter memories within the Pensieve in the same way the use of the stone alters words and thinking – which is to say, it would include the visual aspect in the dissection and regrouping of reality. This way, one would be able to conjure impeccably perfect illusions, that would be undistinguishable from the truth."

"But wouldn't the user forget what was true and what wasn't?" Lucy said in a low voice.

"That is an excellent question," said Dumbledore approvingly. "Do _you_ think they would?"

"I don't know… but this isn't something I'd be happy to experiment with."

Dumbledore's eyes were intent. "And why is that?"

"Because…" Lucy pursed her lips, searched for words. "Ronan told me once that my eyes were traitors, in the sense that sometimes they tell the truth, sometimes they don't; and because of that, I should question everything I see. Occlumency is part of my daily routine, and sometimes it is hard enough to tell what I think, even; but if those misconceptions of thought were linked with images, I think I'd totally lose it."

"I see…" Dumbledore tilted his head slightly. His eyes were smiling at her above his half-moon spectacles. "I'd say, however, that some endeavours are worth taking risks. Endeavours that are bigger than us."

"If I expected the talk on the _greater good_ from someone, it wasn't you, Headmaster," said Lucy cautiously.

"Oh, but there is a _greater good_ for certain," said Dumbledore. "Not in the way Gellert had envisioned, certes, but there _is._ "

 _Gellert…?_

"Grindelwald," came the unnecessary explanation, and Lucy Occluded, uncertain if her thoughts had been read. "That is why many historians consider him far more dangerous than Tom – his ideas had truth in them; and he did not notice when and where he went wrong. In many ways, he was almost right, you see. But Tom…" Dumbledore shook his head mournfully. "I had never seen such power, such anger and pain concentrated in one person. There were times when I feared he would become an Obscurial… you know what an Obscurial is, don't you?"

"Yes, but they're very rare now," said Lucy with interest. "I've never actually seen one. But Professor… who is Tom?"

"Oh…" Dumbledore crossed his legs elegantly under the table. "Of course, you would not know. Well, distant and intangible of a concept as it might seem, Dark Lords and Death Eaters are, beneath their masks and black cloaks, _people_ like you and me. They have lives, personalities, desires… strengths and weaknesses… and most importantly: _a past._ A _curriculum vitae._ A road they've walked, with a starting point and a destination. And _that_ detail, Ms Dawlish, is very important – in this case, it allows me to explain that the legendary Dark Lord, Voldemort, had once been a student in my classroom: one named Thomas Marvolo Riddle."

"You-Know-Who was your student?!" Lucy's eyes widened. "Holy sh… I mean, _Merlin's beard!_ That's… that's huge."

"Indeed, he was my student," repeated Dumbledore gently. "I have scolded myself many times for not having seen clearly enough what he was about to do and how he got there… but I do not think I could have saved him from himself in the end. His is a tragic story, but one that must be ended, for the good of us all."

Lucy forced herself to look into the old wizard's eyes, now alight with some strange, low-burning fire. "Isn't it harder to fight them that way…? I mean, it's easy to hate and defy "that bloody maniac Grindelwald", or "You-Know-Who" … but for you, they're just Gellert and Tom…"

There was a long silence; then Dumbledore smiled faintly.

"Do you speak with your great-aunt sometimes?"

 _I've gone too far,_ Lucy realised. The shift in topic was so abrupt that she could only blink, and blabber like a nervous applicant on a job interview.

"You mean, like, my Aunt Rowan…? Uh… not really… the last time we spoke was, well… you know. You were there."

"Ah…" Dumbledore nodded, his eyes distant. "It is not my place to tell you what to do, of course, _definitely not_ in this case… but while I immensely appreciate what you did for me in the Ministry, I advise you to strengthen your ties with your relatives, Ms Dawlish. Perilous times are ahead, and they might not always be around – or _we_ might not. You never know in what ways our elders can help us." He winked, and suddenly, he was jovial again.

"Well, it's not like they ever wanted me," said Lucy. "I mean… I don't know if Aunt Ro even knew I _existed_ before fifth year… honestly, my Dad… sending the whole MACUSA after me just because I sneaked into the States… don't you think it was a little bit _too much?_ By the way, I think Uncle Percival _despises_ me – and from his point of view, it's perfectly understandable. I bet I gave him a massive headache."

"Percival Graves is not a man who would despise anyone," said Dumbledore lightly. "I hope you will have the chance to understand that."

Lucy frowned. She could remember Mr and Mrs Graves as if she'd seen them only yesterday – elegant and powerful elderly people, people who had no business with lovesick teenagers on the run, or even dragon trainers; people who had probably seen her as nothing more than an unexpected burden. Not that they would have ever admitted it, of course – they were far too polite for that; as distant, as alien like her father, like Cornelius Fudge, like the Goblins in Gringotts. Hagrid had warned her about that once: the more time you've spent with woodland creatures, the less you could appreciate civilization and the general mindset of human beings.

"Do not dwell too much on what I've told you," said Dumbledore gently. "But be sure to remember it at the right moment. And now… I think it would be useful to jump back to the beginning of our conversation. You said you would still like to work for me…"

"Yes," said Lucy immediately, "I would."

"Even if your current employ in Gringotts remains intact?"

"Yes," Lucy repeated. "Professor… you know that You-Know-Who… his followers killed my mother."

"Yes," said Dumbledore slowly, "I know."

"I was there, you know. I saw it. And now I feel like… I've been thinking about this since Sirius told me what happened, and I guess… I guess I feel obliged to do something. For Mum. I mean, there is obviously not much I can do. Almost nothing, really. But now that He's back, I'd like to… I'd like to play my part."

Her voice faltered, and she felt herself blushing. This was one of those rare speeches she'd even rehearsed while she took her shower that afternoon, and still she messed it up like some embarrassed schoolgirl…

"An honourable decision," said Dumbledore slowly, "and one I greatly appreciate. You will be able to help me more than you think. But remember… always remember that you have a way out. You only need to speak the words. I – I owe your family that much."

Lucy nodded. "I understand," she said, although she didn't.

"In that case, Ms Dawlish," said Dumbledore cheerfully, "welcome to the Order of the Phoenix!"

In the back of the room, Fawkes raised his head, and let out a single, heart-warming thrill.

 _(to be continued)_

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

a) Percival Graves and Rowan Graves (née Corbitt) are Lucy's great uncle and great aunt from her mother's side. The way they are portrayed in my stories are consistent with my friend Hirfael's _Relic Hunters_ ( _Relikviavadászok_ ) which takes place two generations earlier than mine – and which I advise you to check out!

/ Here stands a shout-out and a _thank you_ for Hirfael for letting me include her _Corbitt family_ , which is a constant source of awesomeness. /

Also, Lucy sometimes refers to Mr and Mrs Graves simply as "my aunt and uncle", because they are the only ones she knows. (She does have one "real" aunt, but she never met her).

b) The first version of the scene with Sirius and Remus is from 2010. This is the fifth one, and I'm still not happy with it…

c) Blarney Castle is an existing place in Ireland – you can kiss the Stone of Eloquence there, if you feel like it.

 **Thank you so much for all the feedback the story has received! It was/is extremely helpful and encouraging.**


	15. The Rise of the Phoenix

_Dear Guest – thank you, I'm happy you liked the things you liked :-)_

 _Dear All – thank you for your feedback, it is much appreciated. One more chapter to go!_

* * *

 **Chapter 15 – The Rise of the Phoenix**

Bill Weasley had a talent to compress the vast infinity of the universe into blatant _yes-or-no_ questions; such as –

"Are you okay?"

They were walking side by side on the garden path. It was narrower than Lucy would have liked, but not so narrow that one of them would be forced to step on the grass. This way, a stray tress of her hair was sticking to the metal spikes on Bill's jacket, and Bill's arm was brushing against her elbow.

They have wandered far from the house, as far as Dumbledore's property allowed. There was no one around but them and the string of some underlying tension between them, pulled further with every passing second.

"…peachy. Thanks. _You_ won't be peachy, though, if mommy catches you dressed like that."

"Stuff it," Bill laughed, but that laughter was like rain on an April morning – it came and went, and the only thing that remained of it was the presumption of relief. Relief, however, was relative; it assumed a darker dimension beyond.

"They will be here, though, won't they? Your parents."

"I guess you're the first person ever who's scared of my parents."

"I'm not _scared,"_ Lucy snapped, "just – just uncomfortable. This is all so sudden… me coming back… the Order… You-Know-Who… I know I promised we would talk when I came back… about _us…_ but must we do that _right now?"_

Bill stopped abruptly, then glanced up at two birch trees as they embraced above them. Lucy attempted a shade of Legilimency, but she had to back off after as much as a second as the gush of his shame and torment stormed through her conscience.

"I…" Bill sighed. "I guess we must. I know how difficult it is for you with my Mum and Dad, and stuff. I don't want to put you through it all if I can avoid it. That incident on Aunt Muriel's birthday… I never want something like that to happen again."

"The old hag," said Lucy with a grin. "Stinking rich and having none of your shit… You know she's my role model, right?"

"Nevertheless, what she told you… we were _eighteen…"_

"A lot of people marry at eighteen," said Lucy lightly. "And if she told me to marry you _now,_ I probably wouldn't tell her to sod off."

Bill looked at her uncertainly. "You wouldn't…?"

"Unlikely as it seems, I've learned how to _behave_. I also stopped being an invalid long ago. So why don't you just tell me what's wrong, and save us both precious time?"

"Yeah… yeah, I probably should." Bill crossed his arms, then unfolded them, letting them hang awkwardly at his sides. "It's just that I… sometimes you know people since forever, and you still can't find your words with them. It's like hanging above that pit in Brazil… _you remember that pit?_ You couldn't see the bottom of it, you only knew that you didn't wanna fall down… does that make any sense?"

"Not really."

Lucy glanced at him sharply, taking in the smooth angles and edges of his face, as if for the last time. There was a rupture in the thicket of branches where they stood, and the Sun shone through it, setting Bill's hair on fire. Lucy wanted to touch it – it was so pretty – but he seemed suddenly so far; as if the entire universe was concentrated within the few inches that stretched between their elbows. She felt like she would never reach through.

And suddenly, she _understood_.

It felt impossible, though – Bill Weasley was her childhood friend, her shoulder-to-cry-on, her travelling companion, her co-worker, her lover, and (quite possibly) the kindest man she could ever lay her hands on. And he was close now; solid, real and warm, less than an arm's reach away. Wherever she'd gone in the world, she always knew that once she came back, Bill would be _there;_ steady as a rock, the only notion of _home_ she'd ever known. Together, they would have everything they could ever need. Together, they would be invincible. Together, they would face anything…

That _together_ no longer existed.

"You've met someone."

It was not a question, and it did not have to be one. Bill did not even need to nod, and Lucy did not even need to ask again.

"Is she at Gringotts?"

With a Promethean effort, Bill said _yes_.

"Please tell me she's not a Goblin."

With a wave of indignation, Bill said _no_.

Lucy suppressed a laugh, and a fit of hysterical crying with it. "Had to ask, though." She reached across the cold void of the universe and touched his arm. "I'm happy for you."

"Are you?" Said Bill in a choked voice.

"Yeah," said Lucy, stretching the lie further still, so far that it became a soft, warm blanket. It wrapped up the entire world: her silent rage; his relief; the icy distance between them.

"I… I am happy for me, too." Bill said lamely. "But you – you'll still remain my best friend, right?"

"Right. Of course."

Bill took her hands in his (large hands; calloused like Black's but with shorter fingers) and squeezed them.

"Thank you," he said warmly, fondly. "That… that means a lot."

Lucy felt a flare of anger and hatred in her chest; it rose and burned. Any remorse she might have had over letting Black have his way with her dissolved in a pile of immaterial ash.

"Don't mention it, she said sweetly. "Would've done worse for your happiness."

"Worse?" Bill eyed her, somewhat accidentally. "What worse?"

"Why," said Lucy, all the world's sweet innocence in her voice, "if that was what it took, I'd have even been your sodding wife."

She dropped her gaze discreetly as Bill tensed next to her; and it was only from the corner of her eye that she observed how his face turned to ash, how the lines around his eyes and lips tightened as bow-strings, how his back bent slightly, yielding to the push of some invisible weight.

The knife had been already in; and it was easy to twist.

It felt empowering and sickening at the same time.

"See you at the meeting," Lucy said lightly, brushing away a stray fly. "I need a cig."

* * *

"Thank you for answering the call of the phoenix and accepting my invitation so soon," Dumbledore said softly. The curtains were half-drawn in the parlour, and the afternoon glow was seeping through the gap, draping his hair and beard in a halo of gold. From Lucy's angle, he looked like some ancient, benevolent sage.

Dumbledore was good at looking like that, she knew. That was precisely why she thought he was somewhat _dangerous_ : he held _power_ over the twenty-some people around him (some familiar, some not). His mere presence made their faces merge into a blur of pale-gleaming spots; Dumbledore's was the power of hope, the power of authority, the power of promised protection.

Lucy had never known the latter to be real.

"…as you all know, the Order of the Phoenix has been founded to oppose the views spread by Voldemort and his Death Eaters: a goal we have pursued for almost ten years, until the tragic events on Halloween's Night, nineteen-eighty-one, which have passed here, in Godric's Hollow." Dumbledore bowed his head slightly. "That night, although the deaths of Lily and James Potter were a heavy blow, we thought that the Wizarding World was finally saved. As you all know, Voldemort's curse backfired when he was trying to kill young Harry Potter, causing him to lose his powers – once and for all, we have thought. We did not know how wrong we were."

A short, elderly wizard audibly caught his breath at that, and Lucy had to engage the entire variety of her acting skills to disguise her snort as a cough; but her mirth soon evaporated as Dumbledore continued his speech.

"For thirteen years, we thought we knew what happened," he said, and Lucy instinctively lowered her gaze at the stern, quiet authority in his voice. "For thirteen years, we thought we knew how Lily and James Potter had truly died. For thirteen years, we have thought that Voldemort was gone for ever, and nothing, _no one_ could bring him back."

Dumbledore sighed softly and looked at his folded hands as they lay in his lap. A stray flicker of light was dancing along the frames of his half-moon spectacles.

"Again," he said, "we were wrong. We have been lied to. There was a traitor within our lines, and his lies bore fruit – darker fruit than any of us could have ever thought. Dark enough that I, myself, was deceived, and voted in favour when the Ministry of Magic had posthumously granted an Order of Merlin to a despicable spy, to a turncoat who had played us all for fools, _and who was not even truly dead!"_

There were several gasps from the audience, and Lucy caught Black from the corner of her eye – he had retired into a dark corner at the beginning of the meeting, seemingly determined to fade into the furniture. He tensed at Dumbledore's harsh words; and Remus, who was sitting beside him, caught his arm with one fluid motion, as if he feared Black would Disapparate.

"Indeed," the old wizard went on, and his voice regained some of its previous softness. "You, my friends, all have to know – you all _deserve_ to know – that the traitor, the one who sold our precious secrets to the Dark Lord and his henchmen was none else but Peter Pettigrew; he is alive, and it was with _his_ help that Voldemort regained his power. Because _he is back;_ stronger then ever, more dangerous then ever, fuelled by hatred and the desire for revenge. Our world is in danger, the extent of which we cannot yet see, or comprehend; and for that reason…"

"It was him?" Alastor Moody's throaty voice cut in from the back of the room. "It was that pipsqueak Pettigrew boy all along?"

"Aye," said Dumbledore softly.

" _But then Sirius…"_

"I didn't do it," said Black icily.

He winced slightly as every eye turned on him, suddenly realizing that he was there (further gasps and even shouts were involved, and several people drew their wands). Lucy would have bet a full ten Galleons that Dumbledore was secretly enjoying the scene.

" _I said I didn't do it!_ Not for lack of trying, though. Next time I see that little rat, I'll tear him to fucking pieces with my bare hands."

"But then…" Said Moody in a choked voice, "…then they threw you into bloody Azkaban for _nothing?_ "

"Wonderful deduction, Mad-Eye. I knew I could trust you."

The small chunk of Moody's face that was not covered in scars or hidden by his messy hair, suddenly seemed to whiten. "I'm so…"

"Let's get back to Voldemort," said Black, as if he suddenly wasn't even aware of Moody's presence. "And the fact that as it seems, Dolohov and the Lestranges have managed to butcher every single Auror in this group save Mad-Eye and myself, which essentially means that we're screwed."

"In that respect, Sirius, I'm happy to say that I have very good news," said Dumbledore brightly. "As it happens, I have managed to convince no less than three Aurors, from the inner circle of the Office, to join our ranks. They should very soon be here, in fact, once their watch is over for today."

"And don't you think they will reconsider when they see you hiding a mass murderer in your house?"

"I thought we have just established that you were not a mass murderer," said Dumbledore. "And now that it is done, I believe it would prove most beneficial for us all to get familiar with the yet unknown parts of your story."

"I don't like telling stories," said Black.

Although the two men's voices were entirely calm, Lucy felt their wills clashing against each other in some immaterial dimension. It made the room feel small, crowded, airless; and she wondered if the others noticed it, too. It felt like standing on the inside of a vault door when it was sealed – a practice that had her white-faced and trembling the first time she had to do the counts in a Gringotts currency safe.

The moment was interrupted by a loud bang from the adjoining room. Then came some muffled cursing, along with the sound of a vase falling and breaking. That was followed by a sharp _hiss_ of rising flames, then two others. Lucy then heard sounds of commotion, along with an exasperated sigh of a deep baritone.

"Dora, I swear… can you even move an _eyelash_ without causing collateral damage?"

"Sorry… _sorry,"_ said a muffled voice, one that Lucy knew; and one that had absolutely no reason or right to be heard on a secret Anti-Ministry meeting. Still, Lucy had heard and recognized it, and she had five full seconds to build her composure before her childhood friend crossed the threshold and halted abruptly in the doorway to face her.

Nymphadora Tonks looked nothing short of _professional_ in her long, dark Auror robes and the shining Ministry badge over her heart – if anything, her spiky pink hair even reinforced that impressive image (which drew a stark contrast with the astounded expression on her face).

"… _you?!"_

"None else," said Lucy theatrically. She nipped on the fabric of her cloak with two fingers. _"Very_ fancy. I still prefer neon green, though."

Her long-lost friend shook her head. "But what in Merlin's bloody bu…" She glanced at the trinity of Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall in the background. "…I mean, _what on Earth_ are you doing here, Lucy?!"

"Not much. Sippin' tea… hangin' out after your average suicide mission with the boys… high life, you know?" Driven by some unreasonable instinct, Lucy winked brazenly at Dumbledore, who winked back with enthusiasm.

Lucy's attention then turned to the two other newcomers in the background. One of them, a blonde, lanky wizard kept his intent gaze at Dumbledore, as if waiting for orders; while the other one – in whom Lucy recognized none other than Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt (Second-In-Command to Rufus Scrimgeour, if she remembered correctly) – was staring at Black as if he'd seen a ghost. Black, for his part, stared back at him without blinking or even breathing; and both their hands moved subtly towards their pockets.

"There is absolutely no need for that, gentlemen," Dumbledore said easily. He snapped his fingers – as Lucy had previously seen from Black –, and the next moment, he was holding both wands. "Please, sit down. Everyone has a reason to be here, and all things shall be explained. Trust me."

When Shacklebolt didn't move, yet his two colleagues drew their own wands, Dumbledore sighed. "Sirius here is using my old wand, if you must know, and I would trust him with my life." He was still talking to Shacklebolt, spreading his arms in a gesture of appeasement. "Kingsley, my friend, when was the last time you'd seen me doing anything without good reason?"

Shacklebolt closed his eyes for a moment, breathing slowly in and out.

"You'd better have a _splendid_ explanation this time, Dumbledore," he said sharply, and he sat down, gesturing for his colleagues to do the same; and he would stay in the same position for the rest of the evening. Lucy kept stealing glances at him all along – through explanations provided, ideas exchanged, plans being rolled out; through the unstoppable avalanche of faces and names, of old members and new. Despite all uncovered secrets and shocking revelations, Shacklebolt never moved as much as a muscle; he hardly even blinked, and neither did Black.

 _That_ Lucy could perfectly tell, given that she kept staring at him for the rest of the meeting, somewhat reverently, like a complete invalid.

* * *

"So, if you must know," said Lucy to the scrawny walnut tree with blackened leaves, "I've just been kind of dumped."

"Oh," said Remus. He had forgotten about his cigarette a minute ago, and it burned down to the stub. Lucy didn't need to _look_ to understand that – the smell gave it away. "So… so Bill was more than your friend, after all."

"Ten points to Gryffindor!" Said Lucy, a little bit more venomously than she would have liked.

"There's no need to jump at me like that." Remus crossed his legs, stubbed his cig, then lighted another one. "It's just – you never told me."

"It never came up."

"Did you love him?"

"I did, and I think I still do. But… I don't know if I've ever been _in love_ with him. I'm done with being in love, you know."

"I see," said Remus gently. He didn't ask prying questions, and that alone made her want to give him the answers.

"…you know, it's not that it surprised me. Getting dumped, I mean. I deserved it… and it was bound to happen sooner or later anyway. Bill is one who'd want a family or something, and I'm no good for that. I can't do that. But I thought… see, this was not the first time I had to work abroad; and each trip like that, it's like an alternate reality… it links you with unlikely people… and once the trip is over, that alternate universe collapses, and everything goes back to normal. _Poof._ In a second. Only now… now there was no collapse, and things clashed instead of merging back together. I've done _lasting_ _damage_. I don't think anything is ever going to be normal again."

"And what would that _lasting damage_ be?"

"Me joining the Order. Me being friends with you guys… all these years, Bill had been the only thing in my life that was solid and constant. Now he's gone, too… And the psychopaths who killed my Mum are back. I don't even know how that makes me feel."

"You know I'll do anything within my power to protect you, right?" Said Remus softly.

Lucy thought of the scars on her back. "Right. Thanks."

"Oh, and by the way, you did not _deserve_ to be dumped."

Lucy thought of Black, and the way his hands had slid most unethically up her thighs in that downlit lounge.

"…no worries, I did. That's not the question. The question is… fuck, I don't even know what the question is." Lucy crossed her arms, somewhat defensively. "I just thought… well, Bill was the last trace of normality I had in my life. I mean, we weren't, like, _officially_ back together, but we were getting there. I thought he would drag me back on my feet and save me from getting overwhelmed by all these… all these huge life changes. From going nuts, or something."

 _From the likes of Black._

"…I don't know why I keep burdening you with my sob story, anyway. Sorry 'bout that."

"Come on," said Remus. He draped his scarf over Lucy's back – a wave of warmth that had nothing to do with any protection the thin, way-worn fabric could offer. "That's what friends are for, after all."

There was a pang of bitterness in his voice; Lucy could not quite put her finger on it, but it was _there,_ and if she had the emotional capacity to worry about it, she would definitely have.

"You know," she said, stubbornly keeping her eyes on the scrawny walnut tree in front of them, "this will probably sound ridiculous… I mean, I've known you for what, a year? Two years…? But I think you're easily the best friend I've ever had."

"When I'm not trying to eat you, that is."

"Define _context."_

Remus looked at her, narrowed his eyes… then a brief look of mortification flashed across his face before he cracked up laughing. Laughter suited him better, Lucy observed; it changed his entire face, and it showed how strangely clean and white his teeth were. Even if she were to look, she would not find the wolf within that face – but the wolf was real, and always hungry, and the memory of its rage ran down her backbone as a lightning-bolt of pain.

"… _you okay?"_

The laughter was gone; and Remus studied him with a strange, reserved expression, as if he knew or suspected something about the inferno of pain she had just experienced. Lucy morphed her features into a passable imitation of a smile and removed a fallen leaf from his hair.

She was okay, of course. She had to be.

 _(to be continued)_


	16. The Seal of Fate

_The final chapter – I must say I'm proud of it. Enjoy! (Once again, some characters are swearing. A lot).  
_

* * *

 **Chapter 16 – The Seal of Fate**

"…yeah, no, I'm not shitting you or anything. I swear – she downright _flutters her eyelashes_ at Fudge over that mushy teacup and she goes, _isn't it comely?_ Like, who on Earth uses the word _comely_ today…?"

"Oh _jeez._ I think I saw that robe yesterday. It is decidedly _not_ what I, or my Ma', or even my Granma would call _comely_ …"

"Yeah, exactly. And then I was like, _hey, I'm supposed to have drunk Veritaserum, right?_ So I was supposed to have this god-awful obligation to tell the truth…"

Dora almost choked on a mouthful of coffee mousse. _"Nah, you didn't…!"_

" _Of course_ I did! Are you fucking kidding me?!" Lucy leaned back in the armchair, allowing a heap of soft pillows to caress her back. "After such a gruelling mission, I think I deserved some means of _moderate relaxation."_

"By insulting a high-ranked Ministry officer?" Dora bit her lip.

"Girl, when was the last time you've had the chance to properly insult someone? Don't you _dare_ to tell me it didn't feel like pure heaven. And an old slag like Umbridge…"

"That _old slag_ can make your life pretty miserable if she chooses to," said Dora in a low voice. "Trust me. She kind of, I don't know, _dances around_ Fudge all the time… I'd say she is the one behind much of the Ministry's new educational directives…"

"Well, you're kind of a _detective_ now, huh? Be a babe and find out if they do _dance around_ in the depot after hours…"

" _Ow, my Inner Eye!"_ Dora snapped, providing a refined imitation of Sybill Trelawney which had them both slouching and snickering like unruly kids. Dora's hair – somewhat involuntarily – changed to puke green, then yellow, then electric blue as she struggled to contain her laughter.

The Nymphadora Tonks Lucy had known at school would have never tried to _contain_ any of her emotions – this was one of the strange new things about her, along with the Auror robes, the new pair of green Martens she _decidedly_ envied, and the shade of solemn controlin her eyes – perhaps Lucy was the only one in the Order to see that, as she still remembered her without it.

It was peculiar, really, the way Dora had changed so much, yet not at all. Lucy wondered what was different about _her own self_ now –a bit more lines on her face and a faint aura of bitterness, maybe…? She didn't know exactly; but she _did_ know about the lines on her face. Whenever she smiled, they appeared, and they took a few seconds to disappear, perhaps longer every day: subtle, faint set-outs to the trenches age would dig on her face if she lived long enough.

One day, they would no longer disappear, she knew; and from then on, it would get harder and harder to make her living. Harder to travel… harder to handle dragons… harder to pick the occasional man to serve as her bodyguard in far exotic countries… She might consider getting married before the hammer of age falls, of course, and condemn herself to a life of respectable boredom and mediocrity…

"…judging by your face, you _imagined_ it too."

Lucy almost knocked over her teacup. "Huh…?"

"Weird how perceptions change, isn't it…? At school, we had no qualms about writing some great fan-fiction with Filch and Madam Pince getting cosy in the broom cupboard..."

"Ah…"

"Like the one with pancakes. _Jeez,_ do you remember the one with pancakes?"

Lucy blinked. "I'd prefer not to."

"Okay, so what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Why?"

Dora sighed theatrically and crossed her arms in front of her chest as she sat. Lucy could feel her determination radiating across the table.

"Okay, so here's the deal – I'm free until four in the afternoon. Three more hours, that is. Either you spit your story out in time, or I'll go. I have an evening shift today. I know you… if you didn't secretly _want_ to talk about not being okay, you wouldn't betray it."

Lucy breathed in and out, slowly and softly as Ronan had taught her. Dora's words were clawing on her pride like the wolf had clawed on her back. This injury, however, was invisible, intangible, and therefore, a lot more dangerous than a couple of gashes on her skin…

"So let's try again," said Dora softly. Her voice was merging into the cosy background noises of Godric's Hollow's only café. "What's wrong?"

Lucy squeezed another clove of lemon into her tea, imagining it was her face, or perhaps Bill's. "Everything."

"…and _now_ we're getting somewhere!" Dora snorted. She shook her head slightly, the way people would shake their heads when she, Lucy was being "unreasonable" or "impossible", or any of those things with a negative preposition.

 _She is only trying to help,_ Lucy reminded herself. Inside, her pride was howling like a maimed lion, but she couldn't deny how much she needed Dora and her idiocy right now.

"So first of all," she said measuredly, "I'm sorry about the thing with Charlie, and all. Like, _genuinely._ I mean… you know me. I'm as _genuinely sorry_ as I can be – meaning that if I were to go back, I'd still do it, but I'd do it with regret."

Dora stared at her. "Merlin, you're being _honest._ It must be _bad_."

Lucy grinned despite herself. "Well, I'd say it's _medium terrible."_

"Meaning…?"

"So… uh, you know, Bill… he broke up with me. Yesterday. Right before the meeting. So things wouldn't get weird with his parents, and all."

"That's it?" Dora sighed. "Jeez, I was starting to get _worried."_

"Yeah, but this time it's different."

"Lucy, look… Bill breaks up with you approximately two and a half times a year… and sorry for, like, bringing it up, but it's usually _you_ who turns up with all kinds of weird blokes out of the blue…"

"Yeah, but this time it's him."

Dora knocked over her cup, draping the entire table in tepid waves of cappuccino.

" _No way!"_

"Yeah…"

"While you were away in Transylvania!"

"Well…"

"What an _arsehole!"_

"Yeah, you tell me."

"Okay…" Dora waved her wand absently to clean the table. She leaned on her elbows, brows furrowed in thought. "Okay, listen… I bet he'll grow out of it in a few months. I mean, you and Bill… you're just… I don't know, you guys _belong_ together."

"Not anymore. He's in deep, Dora. He _loves her,_ and stuff."

"Come on! He'll _definitely_ grow out of it."

"I don't think so." Lucy bit her lip. "I mean… false modesty aside, can you _imagine_ the chick for whom Bill would drop me? _Me?_ Come on, we've spent the better part of our _lives_ together… good times, bad times, stuff like that… and now he just throws it all away…"

It suddenly felt as if the wolf was clawing on her insides, wreaking havoc in the hollow of her chest, her throat, her brain, _her eyes_...

"… _and he fucking asks me to remain his best friend!"_

Lucy's entire self was chasing the subtle inspiration of Occlumency. She felt the realm of thoughtlessness within her brain: rippling tendrils of empty peace, always looming on the edges of her conscience, less then a figurative arm's reach away; everywhere yet nowhere, elusive, unreachable.

"… _and I fucking tell him that I'm happy for him and he believes me, because he wants to believe me because it's so much easier, and he walks away…"_

It was supposed to work, it really was. Her brain was completely empty; it could not form as much as a conscious thought, but the peace, the _silence_ was nowhere. All she could acknowledge was the tightening knot of some great strain around her neck, down her throat, inside her chest; some uncontrollable tension, some giant invisible weight…

And she kept talking.

"… _and it's not that… I understand… I know that I wasn't that kind to him… I never really was, and I never really told him, either, but I loved him, you know? I really did, and I never cared about the other guys, just him. Just him and Myron…"_

Dora's fingers were tentative at first: startled and trembling, as if touching her could burn them; but they touched her all the same. They crept down her hair the way she had always hated; they caressed the back of her neck, graciously avoiding the wolf scars; they lingered uncertainly on her back.

"… _I would have never asked for anything big, you know? It's just… I know that I'm selfish and unlovable and all. I also know I'm incapable of commitment, but it would just feel great if… if just once, just bloody once someone thought that I wasn't, you know…? If once a man told me something like… like – I don't care you piece of shit, I'm going to make you stay if that's the last thing I fucking do, because you matter to me… but I never matter to anyone. I always get left behind and thrown away like, I don't know, like Muggle plastic bags when you've eaten the chips…"_

Something was cracking in her, some _shell,_ the existence of which she had perhaps never acknowledged before. Next thing she knew she was crying, _openly,_ like some pathetic weakling. She was ruining Dora's new Auror robes as she leaned into her and let out her rage and frustration in one sweeping flow of hysterical sobs – it felt like getting stuck out in the woods, exposed to a capricious April storm: all she could do was curl into a ball and wait, hoping that it would leave her unscathed.

Eventually, the rain ceased, and the clouds rolled away. Some distant part of Lucy's conscience registered the fact that Dora had waved away the waitress two times, but when the short woman returned for the third time, she had left something on their table – something that materialized as two glasses of Firewhiskey as Lucy's eyes were suddenly able to focus again.

"C'mon," said Dora in a croaky voice. "We could use a bit of a boost."

Lucy stared at her stupidly. She felt trails of dried tears crackling up on her cheeks as muscles moved in her face – they must have been ugly red, dotted with black stains of mascara.

"…you've been crying, too?"

"No, I just – I think I was kind of shocked. I never saw you cracking like that before."

Lucy swallowed. "Yeah. Well… sorry… sorry 'bout that."

"Oh, stuff it! At least you _finally_ let me do the thing friends do. You know, like, _girly_ friends. Ritual raging over guys, and all."

Lucy felt the smile before it came – a soft, warm tug on her heartstrings. She had almost forgotten how it felt to smile like that.

"I missed you, you know."

"Of course you did." Dora grinned triumphantly. "I mean, who could live without _me?"_

"Yeah, yeah, piss off." Lucy took a sip of whiskey and closed her eyes, enjoying the taste. "Anyway, you told me you had news, and stuff…"

"Yeah, well, it might not be the best moment to talk about it," Dora shifted in her chair. "Given that we're supposed to hate guys now."

"Have you _met someone,_ too?" Lucy struggled to keep the venom out of her voice. "Like Bill?"

"No… not me, but Don."

"What? _Don?_ Like, our sweet little Donaghan?"

"That's the guy!"

"No fucking way!" Lucy grinned.

"Yeah! American chick, and all. They're getting married in September, and we're invited. You too – it's just that he couldn't get his owl to you for some reason. He told me it came back several times. Is it still your charms working…?"

"Yeah, and I won't lift them. You know _who_ would be able to reach me through Don."

"Yep…" Dora sighed. "Good old times when _You-Know-Who_ meant someone else, eh?"

"Uh-huh."

"By the way, you know Myron will be there, right? Best man and all. Inevitable."

"Yeah, that is why I won't fucking go."

"Come on… it's _Don's wedding,_ for Merlin's sake! And he misses you. He told me so."

"I've told you a million times: I'm _done_ with the Weird Sisters, and I'm also done with the royalties they owe me for singing about me in half of their fucking breakup songs!" Lucy bit her lip, perfectly aware of how her tone was rising to dangerous heights. "And I'm not going _anywhere_ close to Myron Wagtail, thank you very much."

"Okay…" Dora frowned. "I get that. I really do. But look… Bill will be there, too. Probably with his new girlfriend. And… well, you know what? I think you should have your revenge."

"My revenge?" Said Lucy stupidly.

"Yeah. Your _revenge!"_ Dora waved her empty glass at her. There was a strange light in her eyes – Lucy remembered it from their school years, and it made her slightly wary.

"Do I even _want_ to know how you imagine that revenge?"

"It's simple: we'll get you a brand-new boyfriend. Like, a smoking hot one. A jaw-dropping one. A _holy-shit-who's-that-guy_ one. Half your exes will be there, and they will all be starin' at you like a herd of stupid cows. You watch."

Lucy sighed. "Yeah… well I don't think that it would be a great first step on my road to redemption if I hooked up with a _holy-shit-who's-that-guy_ kind of man only to drop him after the wedding. I'm tired of doing things like that."

Dora grinned wildly at her. "…aaand yet… you just _happen_ to have a Metamorphmagus friend. How weirdly convenient."

Lucy's jaw dropped. "Are you implying what I _think_ you're implying?"

" _Just imagine the fun we'd have!"_

"Merlin's stinky… you might need to _kiss me_ and all!"

"We'll go around it. Don't you worry. I just need to be there and look smoking hot… and we'll _mysteriously disappear_ at the end of the party. Meanwhile – aww, poor Dora will be on _sudden_ Auror duty. It will be fucking hilarious. Just imagine Myron's face… and Bill's… it will be worth all the money in this world…"

"I'm starting to like the idea…" Said Lucy slowly. "And it's disconcerting."

"Great!" Said Dora, now grinning openly. "Then, I can _finally_ touch upon the topic that's been on my mind since I first saw you in Dumbledore's shady living room…"

"Parlour, honey. The word is _parlour."_

"Yeah, whatever…" Dora leaned forward, lowering her voice to a dramatical whisper. "So tell me… what's up with you and Sirius Black?"

Lucy almost choked on her whiskey. "W-what are you talking about?"

"Oh come on. You kept staring at him all through the meeting like he was a Greek god or something."

" _That's not true!"_ Lucy snapped. Heat was rising to her face. "That's not… me and Black… it's not what you think it is! It's just that I… he keeps astounding me, that's all. One day he's like this and the next day like that, and he just… I can't put my finger on him."

"But _he_ put more than a finger on _you,_ didn't he?"

"It wasn't like that… it was nothing… I mean, okay, not exactly _nothing,_ but…"

Dora raised one of her eyebrows – just the one – and Lucy could not help but give her some credit for not having cracked up immediately.

"Okay. Look… I'll tell you the whole fucking fairy tale, but you'll _keep your mouth shut,_ all right?"

Dora nodded, still grinning; and Lucy launched into a detailed account on the entire Transylvania mission, which was decidedly _very different_ from the one she and Remus had shared with the Order during the meeting. It's not that it contradicted her previous account at any point, or that it made any mention of Remus being a werewolf – but when she had spoken under Dumbledore's scrutiny, no downlit lounges, Stupefying Charms or reeking wallows were mentioned. Every now and then, Lucy forgot herself and said _Sirius_ instead of _Black;_ and while each such occurrence made Dora's grin widen further, it also continued to strengthen her urge to slap herself.

" _Jeez,"_ said Dora when she finished her account. "That's so _very_ you. It's _uncanny_. Anyway – you have a thing for _Sirius,_ huh?"

"I told you it wasn't like that…"

"Come on, it's obvious. The guy has it all. Long unruly hair… pretty eyes… shady past… _attitude_ … someone has a _type,_ huh?"

"Shut up!" Lucy snapped. "I don't give a flying fuck about Black – and it's not like he gives one about _me,_ either, or at least he'd have come to say _hello_ when I left Dumbledore's!"

Dora's hand stopped abruptly above the table. "Oh my. This is not _at all_ about Bill, isn't it? You acting distant, you getting angsty and all that jazz… it's all about _Black!"_

"You're imagining things," said Lucy icily. "I just met him. Why the fuck would I care if he lives or dies, even…?"

"Well, because you fancy him!"

" _I don't fancy him!"_

"Excuse me honey, but the last time I've heard you protesting that loudly was when Myron asked you out to Hogsmeade…"

Lucy gritted her teeth. "Don't _fucking_ remind me of that. I said I didn't fancy him, okay? And even if I did, it would be for nothing. Things would end the same way they did with Myron. He's _that_ kind of guy. The _sweep-you-away_ kind. I won't be swept away. I won't get fucking burned. Not again. Instead, I will hook up with sweet little you, morphed into a man. It will be _glorious._ Or… you know what? I might even get an _actual_ girlfriend at the end. I bet those gits would finally leave me alone if I did that. Besides, my Dad would just love it…"

"Oh no, no you _won't._ That would get me awfully jealous."

The two women eyed each other above the coffee table, and they laughed.

* * *

As far as Lucy Dawlish was concerned, the good thing about playing hooky on a freight train was – _now where should one start?_

First, there was the choice of placement. One of the wagons always contained something soft or at least _moderately comfortable_ , be it a stock of convenient boxes, a heap of straw or a carriage of plush toys. Second, there was the potential of view – all it took was a simple one-way Transparency charm, and she could enjoy the kaleidoscope of wide meadows and scattered woodlands as the train dashed towards London… And third, there was the exclusive opportunity of _not being bothered._ Lucy wasn't comfortable with Apparating or Floo Powder; and sick and tired as she was of Stan Shunpike's rudimentary flirtation techniques, the Knight Bus got ruled out as well. Not that she regretted it much, to be quite honest; she was even looking forward to the few hours of undisturbed, solitary peace before she would get back to London without having spent as much as a Muggle cent.

The only setback with freight trains was that she needed to stop them in order to get on them; long enough that she would be able to tamper with her wagon of choice, but not so long that Muggles would get suspicious. In Lucy's experience, the ideal timespan for train sabotage was approximately three minutes, which meant that all she had to do was lower the barrier at the right crossing.

That day, she caught a flawless ride, in a wagon fully loaded with sofas. She Vanished a few sacks of plastic and Shrank some furniture; and there she was, with the nearest sofa facing southwards, barred conveniently for her to lounge on – and lounge on it she did. She kicked her shoes off and laid down comfortably, stretching like a cat and stifling a yawn – she did not really feel like sleeping yet. Instead, she unpacked her new treasures: a can of Sprite, a chocolate bar, the newest issue of _Deadpool_ and a special edition of last month's _Potioneer_ that she had borrowed from Remus. She stuffed half of the chocolate into her mouth, then flipped up a lengthy study that – judging by the abstract – provided a new system of classification for moonstones. If she managed to get herself through all that without falling asleep, she thought, she might deserve to read _Deadpool_ as a treat.

Lucy was halfway through the third page when she heard the noise – soft and subtle at first, then louder. _Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._ It vaguely reminded her of the patter of rain on a tin roof, although the sound of waterdrops usually wasn't so dull-yet-noisy. Actually, it was more like the sound of a Muggle microphone being dropped with a plush cap on… or maybe the paws of some giant dog stealing across the wagon… _but that doesn't make any sense,_ Lucy reasoned with herself, _does it_ …

At the next moment, many things happened at once: there was a horrible screeching sound, the emergency exit above her head swinged open, and Sirius Black landed leisurely on the sofa next to her.

"Hello, princess."

Lucy glanced at him above _The Potioneer_. He was still wearing his absurdly long grey coat and mud-stained boots (and a grin which made his eyes sparkle like icy stars).

Lucy dropped her gaze back at the endless flow of letters and spaces. "What do you _want?"_

"Eat, sleep and shag. That's what I want most of the time if you've been wondering."

"In that specific order?"

"I'm in a good mood today, sweetheart. You'll get to choose."

Lucy smashed _The Potioneer_ down to the floor of the jolting wagon and sprang to her feet. All her previous rage and frustration flashed back into her mind at once, to a point where she had to hold her arms from shaking.

"All right," she said in a very low, very stern voice, "let's make a few things clear once and for all. One: you may address me by my _name,_ not any of those fucking endearments. Two: You will not keep following me… bumping into me… scaring the shit out of me… disturbing me while I _obviously_ want to be alone…"

Black opened his mouth to bite back, but she simply, effectively covered it with her index finger.

"…two point five: _you will not interrupt my talking._ Now. Three – _I. Am. Not. Your. Sex-toy._ Nor anyone else's. I'm not a disposable tool or a plastic bottle. You will grant me some semblance of _respect,_ or I'll smash your fucking head in. Have I been clear?"

"…quite," said Black. "Although… if you really mean to smash my head in, you shouldn't go about it from that angle. You'll get more hurt than me."

" _Thanks for the fucking lecture!"_ Lucy snapped. The extent to which he seemed completely unaffected to her distress infuriated her even further, if that was even possible.

"Anytime," he said, tilting his head. "Now, lift up the checkmate, will you?"

"What?"

"I'm sort of stuck here, you see," said Black. "It seems like whatever I do, whatever I say, you're going to be mad at me anyway… so you know, which way I go to _survive?_ Do I apologize? Do I tell you to sod off? Do I bother to explain that I was only joking? I thought you already knew that, though. I mean, the offer is still there, of course…"

Lucy crossed her arms. "Just tell me why you're here."

"Well… I wanted to check once more if your back was okay. It's not like you'll have the sense to ask for help."

 _"…oh,"_ said Lucy, suddenly feeling like a colossal idiot. "I…"

"…so, does it hurt when I do this?"

Lucy assisted him through the examination, silent and meek. She did not have to remove her blouse this time – it seemed that Black merely wanted to see if the muscles in her neck, shoulders and upper back worked the right way, which they did.

"Thanks," Lucy said afterwards, distant and uncertain, not knowing what to say or even think. "That was… thoughtful of you. Actually, you're being much kinder to me than I've ever been to you."

"Never too late to catch up with me, though," Black said cheekily. Lucy risked a glance at him – the battle-trenches of suffering on his way-too-thin face, the occasional grey streak in his midnight hair, the hauntingly clear grey eyes – bottomless pits she could fall in.

"I wanted to talk about something else, too, but… well, I'm not sure we should do that right now." Black continued lamely. "I – it's like you're having this tiny dark cloud above your head today… like Eeyore, or something…"

Lucy snorted. "Go ahead. It can't get worse."

"As you will…" He cleared his throat. "So, I was wondering what we would do about, you know, fancying the hell out of each other?"

"Nothing," said Lucy after a few moments' consideration.

He rolled his eyes. "Must we really do all those circles? It wouldn't make you, I don't know, _easy_ if you actually admitted that you…"

"It's not about that. It's just that it's futile."

"So it has to do with you being a Veela, eh?"

Lucy wished he would stop smiling. "That, too. Look… I'm going to be honest for once, okay? You deserve it."

Black nodded, but they both kept staring at the Wessex landscape for several silent minutes. The wind was rolling out tapestries of rainclouds against the deep-blue wall of summer skies, and now that she thought of it, the very same tapestries seemed to curb Lucy's ability to form coherent sentences.

She breathed in, breathed out.

"Okay, so… I told you that I was incapable of commitment, right?"

"Right."

"Well, there is a reason for that, namely that I… let's face it, I'm not a good person. Whoever gets close to me will understand that. I'm… I'm selfish. I'm a coward. And most of the time… most of the time, I'm also a liar. I know how to play nice, but I _am_ not nice, because… because of many things. Anyway, what would happen if we went down the road you want us to take… essentially, what would happen is that you would grow on me – I guess you're the kind of guy that would grow on me – then you would realize how awful I actually am… And at that point, you would _leave,_ as did all the others I've ever cared for. That's why I told you, back in that inn, that I wished we'd have met at another time, another place… stuff like that. In some alternate universe, when I'm not, well, _me_."

"Not _nearly_ the cleverest story I've heard," said Black nonchalantly. "Could use a bit more, like, you know, _vibrato._ Your voice, I mean. Flat like you've been reading it."

Lucy rolled her eyes. "It's not a story. It's a _confession,_ and if you must know, it wasn't that easy to make…"

"Right… so may I have a question?"

"Go ahead."

" _Do you think I'm a fucking schnook, or what?"_

Lucy stared at him, confused. _"What?"_

"What _exactly_ do you think will happen now, princess?" Black crossed his arms. "Do you think I'll back off, tail between my legs – quite literally, mind you – just because Missus is having an angsty day? You're not even _pretending_ that you want me to leave, for Merlin's sake!"

" _What…?"_

"You just screwed it up, sweetheart. You said that I would grow on you, which means that I have a reason to _fight._ Merlin's shitty pants, what kind of pathetic _muff_ was the man that had last _grown on you?"_ He laughed. "You fancy me like crazy and _grow on you I will if that's the last thing I fucking do,_ and it will take more than a sermon of self-pity to scare me away!"

Lucy wanted to bite back, she really wanted – she wanted to scream, and shout, and disappear, and maybe hex him into a thousand pieces, but her body suddenly seemed to be revolting against the orders of her mind, and when Black took her into his arms, she did not move an inch.

"You might be selfish, or a good liar," the tall man said softly, taking her face between his hands, "but which _bloody invalid_ told you that you were a coward?"

"It doesn't matter."

"All right," Black snorted, "keep your secrets. They'll finish in the ditch with your knickers, anyway. Which I will remove _respectfully_ , of course," he added quickly.

"How did you even _squeeze_ your ego inside of this wagon?" Lucy snapped, finally finding her voice; but Black only laughed, and drew her closer, and his fingers sank into her hair.

"You know what's going to happen now, eh? I'm gonna kiss the shit out of you. And it's not like you can do anything about it."

Slowly, mysteriously, Lucy smiled – then she leaned in, the way she had leaned over the table in the inn and crushed her lips against his before he could move.

This was the only way it could ever work – because Sirius Black was a _man,_ and all men wanted the same precious thing.

The one thing she was not willing to renounce.

 _Control._

 **THE END**

* * *

. . .

… **NO, IT ISN'T!**

 **The adventures of Lucy, Sirius, Remus and Dora will continue in a sequel, titled '** _ **The Cat Among the Pigeons'.**_

 **The first chapter will be released on 21 May 2019, and my goal is to update twice a month (C.A.T.P. is probably going to be longer than this one).**

 **If you're interested, don't hesitate to hit 'follow' – just be careful to follow ME (the author), and not** _ **this**_ **story, because that way, you're not going to be notified of the new one.**

 **DEAR READERS: I would like to thank you once again for all your support!**


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